Demon Hunter: Outland
by Nex-thanarak
Summary: Outland. The shattered remnants of Draenor, once home to the orcs. Now a foothold for the Burning Legion. Nex has followed his master to this barren land seeking demons and worse. But is it demons he truly need fear? Book two of the series.
1. Islands in the Nether

The Demon Hunter: Outland

I'm pleased to present here the second book of the Demon Hunter series. For those of you stumbling on this story for the first time I strongly urge you to begin with my first completed novel, Demon Hunter, which can be found on this site as well.

A note on my update schedule for this story. With my first book I would estimate I had roughly a quarter of it already written, and was producing material fast enough to put up a chapter a couple times a week, if not even more frequently. I'm afraid I'm not quite up to that pace this time around, so rather than have readers wondering when my updates will be coming out I'll make it simple. Barring unexpected conflicts with my schedule, I'll be updating with a new chapter every week on Friday. If I happen to have more material and feel like updating I might do it twice a week, but rest assured a chapter will be up every Friday like clockwork.

Thank you to all the readers who have followed the story and given feedback. I hope you'll continue to read and enjoy,

NT

Prologue

Islands in the Nether

The first thing that struck Puros upon exiting the portal was the immense heat. To be exact, it struck him like opening the doors of a blast furnace, 120 degrees at a low estimate. In his heavy armor, with thick double-quilted tunic and leather jerkin underneath, he was immediately broiling.

Heavy armor was not meant for warm places. Full plate with all its undergarments had first been developed in the northlands, Lordaeron and the surrounding areas, where cold was more prevalent. Wearing armor in frigid temperatures was a torment, certainly, but in such temperatures as the one he'd just entered it was possibly fatal. He would have to shed much of it, and soon, or find some way to draw upon the Light to protect him.

But he couldn't worry about heat now. Shrugging aside discomfort he straightened, tightly gripping the finely made and enchanted poleaxe he'd looted from an undead commander in Dalaran, and strode away from the portal, making room for the rearguard to pass through. The bloodred sand beneath his feet soaked up the sunlight well, but somehow it was still so bright that his eyes squinted. He looked up towards this world's sun, and with a cry was forced to look away immediately. On Azeroth staring into the sun could blind a man if he did so for a few moments, but here the sun was so painfully bright he couldn't even glance at it for more than a split second. As his eyes shied away he saw what appeared to be a moon that filled the horizon ahead, so large that he almost thought it must be another world. He tore his eyes away from the sky with a shudder, fearing to take in too much strangeness so soon after setting foot on this searing world. Instead he finally allowed himself a look of the world they'd traveled to.

It was, he had to reluctantly admit, what he imagined the hell set aside for the truly evil must look like.

The portal the murderer Nex-thanarak had created opened out atop a low rise, and with those few steps away from the portal he stood at the edge of that rise, looking out at a vast flatlands below. It was a land of red, tortured rock, and equally red sand and grit blown in a breeze hot enough to sear the sweat from his brow. As if that wasn't unpleasant enough, the wasteland was dotted by deep, terrible fissures that spewed fel green lava, attesting to the demonic corruption this tortured landscape had suffered.

Considering the vile, nearly unlivable nature of this place, he wasn't surprised that off in the distance to his right he saw a structure that looked suspiciously like the infamous Dark Portal, whose appearance had first flung Azeroth into the spiraling cycle of chaos and war decades ago.

If that was the Dark Portal, however, then the Burning Legion must have overwhelmed Azeroth some time in the not so distant past, for dark flecks swarmed from its sickly green center, most by foot but many flying overhead on bat wings. The demons issuing from the portal spread out across the red wasteland, but its size was so vast that even their daunting numbers vanished into it without anything but the slightest trace.

Beside him Maiev hissed. It wasn't at the portal she gazed, but in the other direction. Puros looked to see another portal at the extreme edge of his vision on that horizon as well, similarly allowing the passage of demons into this hellish land. His supposition that it was the portal that had drawn her reaction was quickly dispelled, however, when she spoke. "I feel him!" the Warden said in a low hiss, crouching atop the low ledge beside him as if she feared being seen. "His foul presence permeates the area. He is not far, and in this desolation must be alone. Come, sisters, prepare yourselves!"

Puros suddenly stiffened, glancing back at where the portal had abruptly closed. "Wait!" he called softly. "Where is Nex?"

The leader of the Telratha shot him an impatient glance. "Who cares? Our prey is near, the target of years of hunting. The human demon hunter is nothing more than a petty nuisance, and will cease to be even that when the Betrayer is ours."

Puros straightened, struggling to look impressive in the sweltering heat. "I care, Lady, and greatly. My part in all this was specifically to garner your aid in his capture and bringing him to his final justice."

Maiev hissed in impatience, ducking lower and continuing to speak in that urgent whisper. "I have no time for these games, human! The Betrayer is no easy quarry, and your bellowing risks alerting him to our presence. We will worry about this when he is in our grasp."

"Damn the Betrayer and damn you, woman! I've lost too many good men to bring this bastard to justice, and-" he cut off as Mistress Fadingstar caught his arm.

The night elf Watcher spoke to him calmly, and a moment later Emaille translated. "My mistress urges you to consider this rationally. If the human demon servant failed to pass through the portal, he will be taken or killed by our sisters and your own men left behind. Did you not order them to do just that if he failed to follow us?"

Puros hesitated, then nodded grudgingly. "You are right, of course. Still every moment he is out of my sight galls me. He's a slippery bastard, and he's managed to slide his way out of cleft sticks before." Puros glanced around the desolate wasteland angrily, as if the dark figure of his quarry would appear out of thin air. "I want to know where the hell he is!"

. . . . .

His exit from the altered portal wasn't gentle, and he found himself falling a dozen feet to smash into an unforgiving surface. For a few moments Nex blinked and lay groggily, waiting for his senses to return. It was only after that that he realized he was laying with his left arm and shoulder hanging over thin air, and he lowered bleary eyes to look downwards, and downwards, and downwards, to one of the most horrifying sights he'd ever seen.

"False gods damn the world!" Nex said in a strangled voice, scrabbling backwards away from the sheer drop before him and fighting true panic. He was unable to go more than a few inches before his back and right shoulder connected with the wall, and he realized that the ledge he was sprawled on could barely be called that. For a moment he felt himself teetering terrifyingly, sure he would fall even though his balance was stable, and he closed his eyes and focused on turning his panting gasps into slow, steady breathing.

Heights had no terror for a man who'd mastered levitation. Even as a boy he'd been little concerned with them. It was deeply unmanning to be feeling real fear and vertigo for the first time in his life, especially so soon after completely draining all his power and stepping through a portal from solid ground to thin air.

What lay beneath him was nothing he wanted to slowfall down to. In truth, what lay beneath him was _nothing_.

Taking a few calming breaths, he focused on drawing shadows. To his surprise and pleasure he realized that the shadows here were far more potent than he had found anywhere on Azeroth. Perhaps even a better source of power than passively tapping the Illidari stone, although of course draining the stone's reserves remained far beyond any latent power he could imagine.

Then again, it stood to reason the shadows would provide a better source of magic here, considering he was less than three inches from dropping into the Twisting Nether.

By supreme force of will he managed to get his fears under control, and after a few more moments of concentration he surged into motion, coming lightly and easily to his feet in a low crouch on the ledge, leaning back into the cliff face as far as he could. Then he began coolly appraising his surroundings, and his own situation.

His initial impression of teetering on a ledge on a cliff face proved to be surprisingly accurate. Downwards, upwards, and to either side pale red stone stretched into the far distance. At the extreme edge of sight it seemed to curve away, not just to either side but in every direction, as if he was standing on the top of a crude sphere. There was air here, although it was thinner than he was accustomed to, and colder. Perhaps he should count it deeply fortuitous that the environment he'd portaled into was livable at all.

Directly in front of him he could look out into the Twisting Nether and see another world that filled most of his view in that direction, indescribably massive and completely covered in dense cloud, with a ring of dust and stone circling both it and the cliff he leaned against, so it filled half the skyline as it passed out of sight behind him. Looking up he could see a spherical object, another world like Azeroth's moon but bigger, that also appeared to be circling the cloudy world. Only half of it was visible, the rest obscured by the top of the cliff. In every other direction there was nothing but emptiness studded by stars and manastorms. If these worlds circled a sun, he couldn't see it.

Finally, taking a calming breath, he looked downward again.

Even prepared for the sight this time it was still terrifying, and for the second time he felt a surge of vertigo that he had to physically fight against. Rocks ranging from the size of a house to several miles or even several hundreds of miles in diameter drifted below him. Some, especially those not too far below, remained fairly still, and a few of the larger ones even had vegetation growing on them. But the farther down he looked the faster the chunks of stone moved, swirling in a haphazard dance of breathtaking speed and chaos; carooming off one another, shattering against each other with truly impressive explosions, whipping past to soar out into the Twisting Nether, or simply rotating around the center of the chaos.

The center. Now that was a sight none of his education or intellect was prepared for. It had to have been at least a thousand miles below. There the rocks were so tightly clumped that they constantly ground against one another, and through the cracks came the sullen red glow of molten stone. If he had to guess, he would say that the sheer force of all those stones rubbing against each other was melting everything beneath, like a man without magic forced to light a fire by striking rocks together. Occasionally the clumped rocks parted for some reason or another, and plumes of superheated magma shot thousands of feet, or even miles, into the air. It wasn't until one of those plumes rose up _past_ the cliff he was on, hundreds of miles in front of him but still disconcertingly close, that he realized they could possibly be a threat.

Looking through that maelstrom of pounding rocks, not directly downwards at the core but a bit outside of it and past, he could see the rocks thin out once more, some of them as huge as the cliff he leaned against, he guessed. Continent-sized or greater. So there was a sphere of rocks, the bigger ones on the outside, bigger and smaller ones between, and in the extreme center a core of molten stone. Beyond even those continent-sized rocks on the other side of the core he saw nothing but more stars as the Twisting Nether resumed.

He'd had too much, his confused mind couldn't take any more of the bizarre place he'd come to. With a shuddering breath he leaned back against the stone once more and closed his eyes, then snapped them open in the fear that without constantly watching his feet he'd somehow lose his balance and fall into that roiling chaos below and be crushed to a pulp. His weight was pulling him straight down into it, the way on Azeroth it pulled him directly down towards the ground. The pull was not as great as on Azeroth, but it was great enough.

How?

How had he come to be here? The alterations he'd made to the portal spell taking him to Stormrage's location-Draenor as he supposed-had been so minute that even taking into account the great distance it couldn't have put him more than a mile or so away. Of course he could have miscalculated, never having to work with such vast numbers as the distance between worlds. Had he been flung to some place other than Draenor, and by sheer luck alone come to this ledge on this cliff which had air and heat enough to support his life, with the Twisting Nether in every direction? Could he as easily have left the portal in the midst of those pounding stones below, or in an emptiness where it was so cold and airless that he perished instantly?

His mind was in no condition to ponder such bizarre and horrifying eventualities. What he did know was that there was a down here, and that meant that there was an up as well. If he was on one of the continent-sized rocks then climbing this cliff to its top would put him on the top of that rock, where he could at least stand without having to worry about falling to a grisly death.

Taking a few more shuddering breaths and managing to not look downwards with supreme force of will, he gripped a likely handhold above him and began to climb.

. . . . .

They'd left the greater portion of the night elf army behind, at the base of the portal rise where a bit of shadow alleviated the relentless heat. The bulk of the force of female night elves were doing their best to raise fortifications and make some sort of livable camp in that meager shade, while some twoscore of Maiev's personal bodyguard and her best huntresses and warriors moved out towards where Maiev was sure the Betrayer waited unsuspecting.

Puros, stripped down to his just his boiled leather and underclothes, struggled to keep pace with the night elves and yet remain hidden. To add insult to injury, Emaille had been specifically assigned to all but hold his hand as she led him from one ideal hiding spot to the next. He had to admit, though, that without her help he would have quickly been left behind, and likely would have given himself away to the Betrayer by stumbling around like a fool; night elf Sentinels were renowned for their stealthiness, particularly in the dark.

Even knowing how well they could hide and track, he would never have believed they could disappear into a landscape as desolate as this without seeing it with his own eyes, particularly since they preferred to work within the forests when possible. And yet aside from Emaille at his side, cautiously guiding him forward at the rear of the group, he saw not even a hint of the others.

Soon enough, however, he caught sight of a figure that seemed to care nothing about stealth.

Brazenly out in the open, seeming to care little that he was alone in a strange and hostile land populated by demons, Illidan Stormrage stood looking away from them atop a much, much larger rise. That rise ended in a cliff at his feet, while between his location and where Puros and Emaille crouched the ground rose in an easy slope, utterly devoid of cover.

Puros ducked down on the off chance the demon hunter might glance back at him. Forty soldiers had seemed like overkill before, but then he'd forgotten just who they were hunting. Tapping into but a portion of this creature's power the murderer Nex-thanarak had laid waste to dozens if not hundreds of undead within the walls of Dalaran. Wielding the power of a demon lord, this creature had wielded enough power to shatter the earth in Northrend with such force that Puros had felt the earth quake in Loch Modan, thousands of miles away.

Puros clutched his poleaxe a bit tighter. "Do you think we should bring the rest of the army for this?" he whispered.

Emaille looked back at him, lips pulled back in an amused smile. "You doubt the Warden's strength only because you have yet to see it, paladin. The Betrayer has always fled before her."

_Yes, but because he feared her or because he was loathe to spill her blood?_ Puros didn't speak those doubts, however, instead cautiously poking his head up to glance at the still figure before them once more. "When are they going to attack?"

The beautiful young night elf looked at him with surprise. "Why, they've already begun moving into position. Can you not see them?"

Puros could not. Neither, it seemed, could Illidan. For many more tense moments the demon hunter stood looking down at whatever sight lay below, unaware of the danger which crept up on him. Then with a surge of arcane energy Maiev appeared ten yards behind him, blinking to his position so expertly that only her toes touched lightly on the ground under her foot. Even as she appeared she pushed off, a dagger springing from her hand towards Illidan's back. The Betrayer began to spin, but before he'd moved more than a fraction a shadowy shape rose up behind him, pinning his arms to his sides and pressing them so tightly that the demon hunter's impressive muscles were forced to bulge simply to keep from being crushed. While he was thus pinned the dagger struck his shoulder, and as if it had been coated with potent poison moment by moment Illidan's struggles ceased.

"The Lady Shadowsong's Avatar of Vengeance," Emaille whispered. "Her hatred of the Betrayer is so strong that it has taken the form of her shadow, and in her just cause it fights beside her." The night elf stood. "Come, the fight is over."

It certainly seemed to be. Even as the darkly shadowed Avatar wrestled Illidan to his knees Maiev strode up to him, placing the razored edge of her chakram to his throat so two of its wicked tips pressed to either side of his larynx, against the vein to one side and the artery to the other. With but a tightening of her muscles she could have his life's blood spilling to the ground in a torrent. Puros and Emaille came within earshot just in time to hear her speak. "At last the hunt is finished, Illidan!" she said with extreme satisfaction.

From his knees Illidan looked around at the night elves surrounding him. The green, blindfolded glow of his demonic eyes even fell upon Puros, and Puros shuddered at the sheer force of that gaze. "What is this, Shadowsong?" he finally demanded, not seeming to fear the weapon at his throat. If he was concerned by the fact that he was helpless and twoscore warriors all had ranged weapons trained on him he didn't show it.

"This is justice, Betrayer!" Maiev declared, standing triumphantly over him.

"Justice?" Illidan laughed in stark disbelief. "Again _I _am betrayed, and you dare call it justice? I acted to save all of Azeroth from the Lich King, and you attacked me. Afterwards I put aside my grievances with the man I hate most to save _your_ priestess, and again he called me monster and exiled me. He told me _he _would spare _me_ if again I left the night elf lands and troubled them no more. Even though we were nowhere near Kaldorei sovereignty!" Stormrage struggled against the poison the dagger had introduced into his system, and apparently failed, for when he finally ceased his efforts he was pale, and his previously calm voice was strained. "I did as he commanded! Me, after all I have suffered, all the times I swallowed my pride for the good of our people, did it yet again. I left Azeroth, by Bitch Elune's sake!"

Maiev's lip curled with contempt. "Yes, I'm sure you left Azeroth because Malfurion Stormrage told you to. More likely you feared the wrath of your demon masters after you failed them, and fled here for sanctuary." She turned to survey the surrounding landscape and shuddered, a surprisingly delicate gesture. "Wherever _here_ is. But you cannot escape justice, not if you flee to the ends of the Great Dark Beyond."

Illidan's lip curled in equal contempt. "This isn't justice. Not even an overzealous fool such as yourself can call it so, when you alone of all our people continue to hunt me. The Archdruid and the High Priestess both bid me leave in peace and not return."

"I don't care!" Maiev shrieked, and for the first time since Puros had met her the facade of her icy composure vanished, and he saw the endless rage and loathing within her. Even ten thousand years didn't seem long enough for such bile to ferment within a person. She continued, still nearly shouting the words at her prostrate prisoner as her chakram trembled dangerously at his throat. "The Archdruid's senses are dulled by ten thousand years of sleep, and that bitch Whisperwind has been wet for you behind your brother's back all that time. Small wonder that when she was conveniently in the Barrow Dens waking her lover she paused to take a detour to murder my sisters and set you free."

The Betrayer's only response to her rage was a small smile. "Are you sure it was Tyrande that's been wet for me all this time?" he taunted.

Maiev's rage vanished once more into icy calm. With almost contemptuous ease the tall, bulky female leaned down and picked up the Betrayer by the throat, lifting him off his knees and into the air. "Attraction is the furthest thing from what I feel for you, monster," she hissed. "Call it justice, call it vengeance, call it petty spite if you have to. But I have you again, and the next ten thousand years will make the last seem a Lunar Festival frolic." She looked around, lips curling into a satisfied smile. "This world Draenor resembles purgatory. I'll see it becomes your own private hell."

Puros fought to keep his breath. Did she truly mean to stay here, then? The thought of being stuck in this burning, desolate wasteland for the rest of his life filled him with horror. He hadn't followed her to this place only to be trapped here, his bones scoured by red sand for the next ten thousand years.

Before he could ponder that grim scenario for long Illidan laughed in her face. Not a swift storm of amusement, either, but a long, drawn out noise straight from his belly that seemed all the more sinister for its genuine mirth. "World, Shadowsong? Oh, no. we're not on Draenor, and this certainly isn't a world."

Maiev's expression sharpened, and she flung the laughing creature away. "What foolishness are you spouting, Betrayer?"

Obviously still struggling with the poison, Illidan pointed to the direction Puros assumed was south, based on the movement of this world's sun. "Travel swiftly for a day in that direction, and you will see."

The razor tip of Maiev's circular chakram brushed up against his throat again almost teasingly. Illidan didn't flinch away from it. "I've no time for your games, Illidan. If you have something you wish to tell me, then say it."

"Why?" The Betrayer's lips curled back to reveal unnaturally long canines, disconcertingly similar to Nex's. "I have ten thousand years to look forward to in which to converse with you. You'll have plenty of time to tease all my secrets from me with your loving ministrations." His green gaze flickered suddenly to rest on Puros, and Puros recoiled. "Although the human is not so fortunate. For his sake I'll tell you."

He paused, and then his gaze turned southwards again. "If you travel to the edge of this continent, you'll not find an ocean, Shadowsong. You'll find a two thousand mile drop into a core of grinding stone and molten lava. You stand on an island in a sea of air, surrounding only by other islands on all sides. And beyond them is the Twisting Nether. Standing on some islands you can even reach out and grasp the netherstorms, and feel their raging power."

Maiev's expression showed clear disbelief. "You expect me to believe this fantasy, Betrayer? Your own servant claimed you were going to Draenor."

Illidan smiled cruelly. "Oh, this _is_ Draenor. Or at least it was a decade ago, before Ner'zhul's reckless use of magics beyond his control ripped it apart. Now it is a shattered waypoint in the Twisting Nether, with half a dozen portals leading from it to worlds controlled by the Burning Legion. On an island connected to this one a pit lord rules all that you see. I was planning to take his throne from him and rule this place, but since you've taken me prisoner I suppose you'll have to do it for me." He glanced at the small army of night elves around him and chuckled with derision. "I wish you the best of luck."

Maiev snorted and turned away, but Puros could see the way her eyes darted here and there, as if trying to verify Illidan's claim. Though he couldn't see her doing so, Illidan seemed to guess her actions. "Oh, don't worry, Shadowsong. You'll see I'm right soon enough." His voice became almost triumphant. "Welcome to Outland."


	2. Edge of the Abyss

Chapter One

The Edge of the Abyss

Why had he come here, exactly? He could have altered his portal to take him twenty miles instead of twenty billion, and stepped out of it at any point in Lordaeron he wished.

Nex closed his eyes and pressed his face to the gritty stone in front of him. Normally he wasn't one to second-guess his decisions. The future was generally unpleasant enough without searching for more unpleasantness in a past abounding with it.

Of course after climbing almost three vertical miles, with only the limited levitation he could conjure from the combined powers of the passive effect of the Illidari stone and drawing shadows, he supposed a little second-guessing was only natural. The fact that he had at least that far still to climb only made it all the more pleasant to indulge in. _Foolishness, even so_. With a sigh he opened his eyes, trickled power into the spell matrix to make himself lighter, and searched for his next handhold.

It wasn't weariness that had prompted his brief pause, of course. Although his head was pounding with the imminent need to go into his exhaustion trance so he could continue to draw shadows, he still had a ways to go before it became absolutely necessary. No, what had prompted his pause was searching for any excuse to escape the sheer monotony of lifting one hand, one leg, to the next handhold or foothold. He had already been doing so for hours. He'd even had a chance to see the sun of this place, which had risen from below him and set above him. It had provided only a brief distraction from his boredom.

He continued to climb. Hindsight was all well and good, but in truth he couldn't really have altered his portal in that way. It was tied to his bond with Stormrage, providing a straight-line vector between him and the corrupted night elf. And, to make things more complicated, that vector had actually pointed down _through_ Azeroth before coming out the other side and shooting off into the Twisting Nether in Stormrage's direction. He could make minor alterations to it, but the farther he tugged that vector away from Stormrage's location the more difficult it became to maintain the portal.

If he knew how large Azeroth was, and how far it was from the surface he'd been standing on to the surface the vector passed through, he supposed he could have shortened the portal and found himself on the other side of Azeroth from his woes. Attractive as such a thing sounded, he probably would have ended up smack in the middle of some ocean, levitating his way to land. Provided some leviathan or sea monster didn't kill him first. Other than that, the only thing he could have done was put the exit portal somewhere in the ground beneath his feet. A tidy solution if his desire was death, and it was.

But _noooo_, he had decided to portal to roughly Stormrage's location, even though he had absolutely no reason to be here and he wasn't even sure where _here_ was, or where the hell Stormrage was.

Fuming provided a modest diversion from his boredom, and he indulged in it for the next hour or so as he continued to climb relentlessly towards the top. And as if an hour of lambasting and mocking his erstwhile master had drawn his attention, he felt a searing pain in his head as Stormrage communicated directly into his skull.

To his surprise, the communication wasn't directed specifically to him. It seemed more as if Stormrage had tapped every single link simultaneously and spoken this message for the ears of all of his minions.

"_For the past day or so you may have felt an urge to come to me, for those of you to whom I did not issue direct orders to do so. This urge may have been so strong that you tried to answer it without even realizing what you were doing, and sought out my other servants to find the means to do so._

_When I first issued my indirect summons it was with the intent of gathering my forces to the sanctuary I have chosen. There was no urgency to answering these summons. That has changed, now. Come to me with all haste, by any means you may._"

And just that quickly the pressure was gone, and he was alone with his thoughts once more. On the bright side, Nex could look forward to several hours more of cursing Stormrage while he climbed, fueled by this new source of outrage. Whatever the bastard said, he sure as hell _wasn't_ answering any summons.

At least, not until he got to the top of this false gods cursed cliff.

. . . . .

What he wouldn't have given for even a ravine cutting through the cliff that he could have run up, no matter how steep. Or for that matter a cliff that was actually vertical, rather than sloping backwards so that every handhold he reached for was over and behind his head, and when he looked down he could see that he clung directly over the chaotic core below. It hadn't all been like this, of course, but for the last mile or so he'd had the singular pleasure. It was enough to make him swear he'd never climb anything again if he could avoid it.

After a few more hours he finally found a resting point, a fairly wide ledge recessed into the cliff where he could not only stand but also not have to see what lay ever present below him like a threat. It turned out to be a good thing he had, because even as he was staring at the expanse above him a chunk of rock the size of Stormwind Keep slammed into the cliff and shattered, the bottom of it not twenty feet above his head. The entire rock face lurched at the impact, and the next thing he knew he was falling.

Desperately he cast a levitation spell, halting his fall some ten feet from the cliff. Then he was forced to cast a shield as massive rocks began falling all around him. Some he managed to dodge by clever manipulation of his levitation, others were small enough that the shield shunted them aside.

After a few frantic moments of danger the bulk of the swift moving rocks had passed. But not all of them had gone; as he watched a rock drift lazily passed him and realized he'd been wrong. The rocks around him weren't falling, they'd simply been flung in his direction when the bigger rock had shattered. In fact, those that had absorbed the brunt of the kinetic energy instead of rebounding were now drifting along the cliff face. Nex stared at the rocks floating around him, at the continent-sized cliff face he'd been climbing, and then down at the dizzying drop below, finally realizing just what it was he was seeing.

He'd been a fool to not see it before. Of course, the fact that it was technically impossible had made it less likely he'd notice it, but he should have all the same.

Those with a poor education in magic or lore often confused the Great Dark Beyond and the Twisting Nether as the same thing. Of course for many practical intents and purposes they were, in the sense that they shared the same boundaries and the two occupied the same space. But any student of magic soon learned that the Twisting Nether was a different plane entirely, a chaotic plane where nothing physical existed. Many arcanists insisted that the Twisting Nether was in fact the source of all arcane energy, and likely other forms of energy as well.

For practical reasons, to reach the Twisting Nether was as impossible as reaching the Great Dark Beyond itself, and would require leaving the world behind and reaching a place that was technically physical, but lacking any sort of physical substance such as air or gravity. From there, any sort of planar shift spell would allow a person to reach the Twisting Nether, although they would likely soon regret doing so.

Somehow, by some means, he had stepped through a portal from the physical world of Azeroth into the Twisting Nether itself. But it was also a physical world in its own right, though that should have been contradictory.

He had contacted beings within the Twisting Nether, of course, and read the few treatises that existed describing the place. But it had never occurred to him that he could be there because of the simple fact that physical objects such as the rocks all around him, including the one he was climbing up, shouldn't have existed in the Nether plane. Of course, the fact that they were floating weightlessly in opposition of all physical laws of nature should have been a clue, but in his defense he'd had a lot on his mind, what with being flung into this mad place and spending his first few moments in it staring down thousands of miles towards certain oblivion.

The question was, how was it possible that this place was simultaneously within the Physical plane and the Nether plane, with aspects of both?

He could only surmise, based on the existence of other worlds around him, including the ever-present gas giant behind him as he climbed, that this had also been a world, but some vast magical cataclysm had broken it apart. If so, whatever immense magic had torn this world to shreds had torn the veil of reality and flung it into the Twisting Nether as well, creating a sort of midpoint. A physical world within the Nether, accessible to denizens of both planes.

That was bad. There were some nasty creatures that existed in the Nether plane, and many of them were demonic in nature.

Of course if it was truly the Twisting Nether there would be no gravity and he could move simply by willing himself. Wouldn't _that_ be nice. But unfortunately he still had his weight, drawing him down to the core of mashing rocks and magma below, and he still had a mile or so to go before reaching the top of this cliff and ending this damned interminable climb.

The prospect of returning to the cliff face and climbing through drifting boulders, any one of which could smash him to a pulp, was less than attractive, so he decided to give up on the climb entirely and use the reserves he'd been steadily building as he climbed to take him the rest of the way.

It was an extremely costly process, of course. Levitating to slow your fall required a fraction of the power levitating to remain in place did, and by the same token levitating in place required a fraction of the power it took to to actually rise against gravity. The most efficient way to do it was all at once, actually, an explosion of force that would launch him upwards with enough speed to reach all the way to the top. The danger was that if he miscalculated the direction of force he could end up launching himself right into the cliff face, crushing him as thoroughly as any of these drifting rocks could. If he miscalculated it the other way he could end up being far from the cliff face when the upward force finally depleted itself and he started to fall again, this time with too few reserves to levitate back where he needed to be. Best case scenario then was that he'd end up falling farther than he'd actually climbed before he could manage to get himself back to the cliff face, and he'd have to do it all over again.

So he moved to one of the drifting stones and sat atop it, carefully measuring distance and calculating force and vectors in his mind. It was a welcome break from the tedium of climbing, and the likelihood that he'd end up spectacularly killing himself made the prospect all the more enjoyable. He wondered if goblins derived this much pleasure from tinkering with their explosives.

Finally he had what he thought was the best vector, with a bit of margin for error in case he'd misjudged either the height of the cliff or its angle of inclination. All that was required now was to craft the spell, shunt all of his precious reserves into the spell matrix, and after a few deep breaths and an uneasy look downward release it.

The upward force compressed his spine to the point he thought it would snap, smashing his head down into his bowels and obliterating everything in between. Every single joint and tendon popped simultaneously in an explosion of pain, and he felt a nauseating sensation in his gut as all of his organs were smashed together somewhere around his pelvic bone. Other than that it was quite an exhilarating experience to be flying upwards at several dozen miles per hour, and watching the cliff face fly past in front of him. His upwards speed felt like a rude gesture pointed at the core below, taunting it with the vision of escaping prey.

His speed was slowing as he reached the top of the cliff, as if that stony maw below was sucking at him, and it was probably a good thing it was, because he'd slightly misjudged the cliff's angle of inclination, and right as he reached the top he clipped the very edge of it with his shoulder, knocking him tumbling through the air. Desperately he cast a new levitation spell with his remaining reserves, lacking the presence of mind to do anything but push himself away from the direction gravity was pulling at him. A moment later he slammed into the ground with bone-jarring force, bounced once, and found himself abruptly looking down another cliff face. Desperately he reached back for the surface he'd just struck, clutching, and managed to grab hold of a rocky outcrop. He hung for a moment, panting, then pulled himself up and looked around. Injured, exhausted, his reserves depleted, his fleeting moment of triumph quickly faded at the sight ahead.

He was on a two foot wide ledge that stretched out endlessly to his left and right, like the rim of a colossal bowl. Behind him was the cliff he'd just climbed, in front of him another cliff dropping away not for thousands of miles but for thousands of feet. Tiny by comparison, but daunting enough. Stretching out before him was a tortured landscape of jagged peaks, razor-thin ridges, and everywhere he looked sudden drops of thousands of feet.

Nex stared around him with the sort of numb dismay felt when barely defeating a powerful enemy, only to turn around and see one even more powerful approaching. "_Gods damn_!" he snarled.

. . . . .

The first thing Maiev had done, when bringing Illidan back to their makeship camp in the dubious shade of the low ridge the portal had brought them to, was to order him placed in the cage wagon she'd brought with them from Azeroth.

"Remember this cage, Betrayer?" she asked as the poisoned demonkind was shoved helpless through the bars. With the cage door shut, barred, and locked he looked like nothing less than a high-profile convict being paraded through Stormwind on his way to the Stockades. Puros could almost imagine jeering crowds of peasants throwing rotted fruit and fouler things through the widely-spaced bars as he passed, although the night elf Watchers and Sentinels had made a good show of it as well with their perfectly silent lines and eerie, intent stares as he was dragged through camp. Illidan immediately fell into an odd sitting position, legs forming a diamond in front of him with his feet together and his knees raised from the ground to either side. Without a word he placed his hands on his knees, leaning forward slightly, and the green glow behind his blindfold dimmed. He went perfectly still, making no response to Maiev's taunts.

"Yes," she purred, "I see you do. The cage wrought by Malfurion Stormrage and the remnant of the Highborne before they accepted exile as punishment for their sins. Hold that position, Betrayer, as you did for ten thousand years, to minimize contact with the enchanted bars. Not even you can break free of it, nor influence the world with your magic."

Within the cage Puros almost thought the Betrayer's lips quirked slightly. Then he went rigid as if in pain, and his breath hissed from his teeth in short, panting gasps.

Maiev leapt forward, smiles gone. "What are you doing?" she demanded, making a curt motion. As one three dozen bows raised, arrows nocked and drawn and waiting her signal. "Have you forgotten the terrible price invoked for trying to use magic within that containment?"

For a few moments more Illidan remained rigid with pain, a look of severe concentration on his face. Then he relaxed back into his previous position and raised his head, sickly green light flooding from beneath his blindfold once more. "I forget nothing of our time together, Shadowsong. It was a necessary pain, to alert my minions of my situation. Unlike you, I am leader enough to care for my people even when compromised."

Maiev scowled. "Preposterous. No magical communication can pierce your cage, or you would have called your foul satyr servants to you long ago."

His lips pulled back from those inhuman canines once more. "Also unlike you, I learn from my mistakes. Though most things are precluded, a soul link remains intact."

For a moment Puros thought she meant to let fury overwhelm her once more, but instead she abruptly turned away. "It matters not. All your minions remain behind on Azeroth. The gulf of the Great Dark Beyond which you thought would protect you from my pursuit has instead put you far away from any aid." Without another word she stalked towards the perimeter of their makeshift camp.

Puros hastened to follow her. "My Lady, a moment of your time." She didn't look pleased to give it, but finally she nodded curtly. "Now that you have your prey in hand, I wonder what you mean to do. I had hoped you purposed to bring him back to Azeroth, and me as well."

She turned and glared at him, so hard that Puros took an involuntary half-step back. "Perhaps I did, human. But it makes no difference now, since the one who brought us here is out of our hands and likely dead."

Puros went stiff. He had feared that was the case, of course, although it was such an unpleasant prospect that he hadn't allowed it to really sink into his mind. The thought of being trapped here filled him with dismay too great for words. "What of Illidan Stormrage? If he came to this world he must have a means of returning to Azeroth. Could we not compel him to take us home?"

"We might, but we will not."

"My Lady?"

She hissed through her teeth. "I'll be damned if I stoop to asking that traitorous filth for anything. He'll remain in his cage, helpless, until the worlds end for all I care!"

His dismay became palpable. "But what of your own people? Surely this army you've brought with you did not intend to remain here forever. This world is a purgatory, invested with demons and likely the territory of a demon lord. Do you really mean to stay here and risk having your prize taken away from you?"

Her face, partially hidden behind the deep shadows of her plumed helmet, went noticeably darker with rage. But before she could answer shouts went up from the far side of the camp, and a surprisingly deep and resonant warhorn rang out. They both turned in time to see half a dozen imps skittering through the tents in their peculiar, hopping bounds. Behind the imps a felhound was battling a huntress backing desperately away through the lines of tents, using her massive longbow to bat aside the whiplike mana-leeching tentacles felhounds were dreaded for.

"Silence that horn!" Maiev roared as she leapt forward, disappearing abruptly and reappearing twenty yards away to cut an imp in half with her razor chakram. The horn rang out once more. "Silence that horn, fool! Do you want to draw every demon in miles to us?"

Puros rushed forward as well, turning and instinctively whipping his poleaxe across in a cut that was half block and half attack. The imp that had tried to ambush him from between the tents gave a screech as the haft just below the axehead smashed into it, a noise that was abruptly silenced as Puros finished the swing by slamming the weapon's haft, imp and all, into the ground and crushing it like a bug.

Through the tents more imps were streaming, and another felhound actually tore _through_ a tent in front of him and turned his way, whiplike tentacles waving in delighted bloodlust.

Puros sighed grimly, calling upon the Light, and got to work.

. . . . .

In retrospect the ridges and peaks and sudden terminal dropoffs might have been a pain in the ass, but spending almost a day negotiating them was all made worth it when at last he reached a final series of ridges that dropped off into a wide, blazing-hot plain that stretched endlessly in every direction he looked. With half a minute's inspection he was able to see, and feel, at least three portals. One was below him and to the right a bit, and from it he could see demons emerging in endless file.

He had no idea what the hell demons were doing on this desolate rock, but he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised; from what he knew of Lynda's studies with demon summoning, you could practically throw a rock in any direction in the Great Dark Beyond and hit a world infested with Burning Legion minions. For that matter, they inhabited the Twisting Nether itself in the form of void demons and shadowbests.

He stared down at the portal below, watching the demons emerging in two lines, one afoot and stretching as wide as the portal, and the other in the air, various flying demons fluttering over their landbound companions' heads. So, a scorching, barren, endless wasteland populated by demons as far as the eye could see, half stuck in the Twisting Nether with denizens from that plane regularly crossing over.

Nex had trouble controlling his happiness.

The question was what to do now. It was awfully tempting to try to find a way down from the ridge and begin slaughtering the demons. The problem was that the presence of so many portals suggested a higher purpose for this world of floating islands than simply overrunning it with demons and moving on to the next. It was possible there might even be a demon lord present. If that was the case then attacking the demons carelessly might alert their leaders, something he wasn't ready for. It would be far more prudent to follow the relative safety of the ridgeline until he found something worth investigating.

Whatever he did here, there was something he probably had to do first. With a sigh he drew out the Illidari stone and focused intently on his link, using it to draw a line between him and Stormrage. It tugged him westward as the sun of this world moved, along the ridgeline to his left, the way he'd been planning to go anyway since it was the opposite direction of a portal spewing demons.

Nex engaged his levitation with partial intensity, the way he'd been using it to move through this jagged landscape. It was enough to make him lighter but not entirely weightless, allowing him to bound from one high point and outcrop to the next. He'd grown expert at calculating his jumps and manipulating his levitation at the same time so he always went where he wanted, and though it drained most of the passive energy he gained from the Illidari stone and drawing shadows, he was able to move swiftly and with great agility. Moving along the ridge was less treacherous than maneuvering through peaks and cliffs, although he still ended up making massive leaps at times to avoid more difficult stretches of terrain.

He was so intent on his course that he failed to notice the large plateau ahead, from which numerous winged forms were leaving and arriving, until he was less than a mile from it. As soon as he realized what he was seeing he canceled the levitation spell completely and allowed himself to drop, rolling, behind a rocky outcropping. Then he carefully lifted his head, using both his sight and his second sight, to investigate the plateau.

There was a sort of rough encampment, there, with the impermanent look of a temporary outpost. It was filled with massive, greenish winged forms going about this and that task, as well as a much greater number of succubi, which compared to the other creatures were much, much smaller.

Fiends. He had heard of them, of course, but he'd never seen one. They were less common than the lesser demons or the felguards, and more highly placed, but not so highly placed as the nathrezim or pit lords, and certainly below the eredar. They generally performed the role of midlevel force commanders, especially where heavy discipline was needed. It was said they possessed an uncanny ability to strike terror even into the hearts of the most uncontrollable demon.

Certainly their appearance was impressive enough. More massive even than tauren, stocky and with thick muscles bulging beneath a green hide sprouting lank black hair. Short, powerful wings sprouted from their shoulders, and most wore nothing, or a light harness of skins, save for a few in the midst of the crude fortifications which wore heavier armor over their few vulnerable spots. The more lightly shod fiends came and went, obviously flying scout patrols, though most remained within the fortifications, overseeing the scouting and patrol efforts. Coming and going in greater numbers than the fiends were succubi, and there were even a few felguards riding terrible creatures like winged spiny insects covered in scales.

It was a demon watchpost, obviously. He didn't know what the hell the demons were scouting so vigorously, or why they were scouting at all so close to the portals unless their operation was a more recent one. Still, the wariness these demons displayed didn't seem to indicate that this world was wholly subjugated. Either that or two factions within the Legion were fighting; not unheard of with these vile creatures, although generally eredar solved their disputes without the waste of setting the creatures they commanded against their rivals.

As he watched a particular succubus alighted outside the watchpost and hurried between the mounds of sand and rocks, reporting to a pacing fiend at the center of the encampment. Whatever she had to report obviously didn't please him, for he bellowed and struck her, knocking her sprawling, then snarled a command. The succubus hissed at him and then took to the air where she stood, winging away on whatever errand she'd been set to.

Nex watched the scouts, sentries, and messengers coming and going with narrowed eyes. His reserves were nearly empty, but potentially could be far greater than they would have been drawing the less potent shadows of Azeroth. Even so it was a fairly well entrenched emplacement manned by creatures a step above the usual run of the mill demons. Killing demons was his specialty, but even so the watchpost would be a tough nut to crack. Then there was the fact that even if he succeeded it was certain some of the winged creatures would get away, and there would be no logic to a watchpost such as this without a larger force they were reporting to.

Again, as with his decision not to go down onto the vast plain and kill demons indiscriminately, he had to turn away. He was more than happy to kill demons en masse, but if it was a choice between slaying a score of fiends at once and dying in a blaze of glory, and slaying them a few at a time and living to fight another day, he would be the first to admit that discretion was the greater part of valor.

He had all the time in the world to kill demons if he was careful; until then, it was probably a good idea to find whatever force had those fiends patrolling so diligently, and go from there. With a sigh he ducked back behind his cover and slunk into a crack in the stone.

A pity; assaulting an encampment like that would have been a great way to die.

. . . . .

It wasn't trivial to find away around the patrol outpost, particularly with demons overhead searching for enemies. But with a bit of effort, and helped by the natural roughness of the terrain, he found a place where the ridge leaned out over a narrow gully, hiding him from searching eyes in the air.

He was getting closer to Stormrage's location, he could feel. And he was probably far enough past the demon outpost that he could start concentrating on making his way to the ridge overlooking the plain. He activated his partial levitation once more and bounded up the gully, catching a handhold and flipping himself up and around the leaning ridge to another handhold and climbing up atop it. From there he had to go over two more ridges before he found a good vantage point overlooking the plain.

From there, his link told him Stormrage was almost due north, somewhere out on that plain, hidden from his eyes, and likely far enough away he wouldn't have been able to see him anyway.

He had a choice, now. He could either go down into the plain, or he could scout by other methods. He was frankly sick of climbing and running around, and probably once he got down there he'd decide it was better to travel along the ridge anyway, so that meant scouting by other methods. There was one that seemed most ideal for the situation, although he despised it.

With a sigh he reached up, steeling himself, and yanked his right eye out of its socket. Before the pain could knock him unconscious he began weaving a complex spell matrix around his bloody eye, first of all creating a spirit link that would fool his body into thinking the eye was still attached, and allow himself to continue to see through it no matter how far away it traveled. Next he imbued it to respond to his will and then imbued it with levitation. Finally he shut his left eye and focused his vision solely around his right. When he let go of the thing it hovered in midair, and he willed it to go northwards, dropping down until it flew just a hundred feet or so above the ground.

The rather grisly and painful spell was known as Eye of Kilrogg, in honor of Kilrogg Deadeye, chieftain of the Bleeding Hollow clan. The orc had lost his right eye in battle, and when he learned it could not be reattached he had instead used his powerful warlock magics to preserve the eye and link it, making it an aerial scout he could directly control. While the idea was greatly lauded, few of the other orc warlocks cared to put out their own eyes for the dubious benefit of long-range scouting. Unlike the orcs, however, the ogre mages thought it was a terrific idea, especially the two-headed ones who thought they had an eye or two to spare anyway. During the Second War it became common practice for ogre mages to use the Eye of Kilrogg in combat.

His former mistress, Lynda the Demonologist, had been fascinated by the spell, given her reluctance to leave her cavern home but her desire to know what was happening in the world. Rather than view losing the eye as a sacrifice, however, she further refined the spell to preserve the eye intact, and established a method of reattaching it after its purpose was done.

Nex had learned how to do so as well, although not willingly. After nearly losing her disembodied eye to a raven Lynda had forced him to begin scouting in her place, and he'd further refined the spell with protective magics that shielded the eye against most small attacks.

Not that there were any birds or other flying creatures in this desolate wasteland to threaten his eye as it flew, although if there had been they likely would have loved the tasty morsel. He guided the eye in the direction Stormrage must be, flying over a low ridge and on into a particularly flat part of the plain, and realized only after a few moments that he'd overshot Stormrage's position. He turned the eye back around and saw, tucked down in the meager shade of the ridge, the night elf army he'd made a portal for back in Azeroth. "There you are," he muttered. The almost infinitesimal changes he'd made to his portal had thrown him miles and miles from where they'd come out, and nearly to his death. They seemed none the worse for wear for his portal.

And in the center of that haphazard encampment he saw a cage on wheels, and within the hunched form of his erstwhile master. Elsewhere in the camp he saw Lightfinder wiping what looked like demon gore from his poleaxe, and Shadowsong was setting a group of half a dozen night elf bowwomen to some task.

With a low laugh Nex ordered his eye back to him, opening his left eye and sitting back. So, they'd managed to capture his master after all. It would explain why Stormrage was so eager to have all his minions come to him, although how they'd manage to reach this desolate slab of rock was another question entirely. They hadn't killed the corrupted night elf yet, and didn't seem inclined to do so anytime soon, more was the pity.

His eye reached him, and he began the irksome task of reattaching it. It was bound to be red and swollen for days, like it always was, but he'd be able to see with it as well as before. In truth he wasn't too concerned even about going blind: Stormrage had proven well enough that eyes were unnecessary if you had the second sight.

Well. There was no way in hell he was getting Stormrage out of the middle of an army of night elves, even if he'd wanted to. And he doubted any of them would be pleased to see him if he sauntered into camp waving cheerily. Until the situation changed in one way or another, there was really only one thing to do.

Nex sat down on the ground, pulled his pack around in front of him, and began taking out his toys.

Before he'd even got the first one out, however, a hoarse scream jerked his head around. It was coming from the south, in the direction of the island-continent's edge.

For a moment Nex considered ignoring what was obviously a shout for help, looking longingly at his toy. Then it came again, and with a sigh he stood and slung on his pack, then activated his levitation spell and leapt from the ridge to the next one along.

Unlike the place where he'd come over the cliff and onto the continent, here the distance between the ridge overlooking the plain below and the edge of the continent was only a few ridgelines, and before he knew it he was once more looking down that nauseating drop. Then another shout turned him to his right, and he saw a small hollow surrounded by cliffs to three sides, with the fourth side overlooking the endless drop to the core below.

In the middle of the hollow a crudely made hut of stones and a few sad twigs and branches abutted a corral full of strange spiky pigs which had been tainted and mutated by fel energy. The cry had been raised by the creature that obviously lived in the mean little shelter, who was up with his back against the cliff wall opposite the drop to the abyss below. Two succubi circled him, one hovering on slender wings and the other stalking lightly along the cliff, blocking off escape through a tiny ravine that seemed to provide the little hollow's only exit.

A third succubus leaned casually against a healthy tree incongruously growing in the center of the hollow, its sad nearly leafless branches giving the hut a modicum of shade. The creature was idly slapping the handle of her whip against her hindquarters as she watched her sisters at their play. Her pale, flawless skin was covered only slightly with silken cloth placed to preserve the extremes of modesty, although the cloth was thin and clingy enough to make even that a mockery. The body, and face, was that of a female ripe and lush in the perfection of new womanhood, with soft curves and flawless lines. Her face was slender and vaguely reminiscent of an elf's angular features, softened slightly and with full lips. Only when the creature smiled after witnessing a particularly devastating strike against the pathetic creature her sisters tormented could Nex see the long fangs those lips had hid, and when she turned her head slightly he could see the short, slender horns rising scant inches from her head. Wings were hidden behind her back, but he knew they were there.

He'd never seen anything like the succubi's victim. It looked like nothing so much as an hunchbacked frog standing on two legs, with greenish-brown skin, hunched, rounded shoulders, and spindly limbs, with an oddly flat face and a mouth filled with needle-like teeth which protruded at all angles in an unnatural way. It, too, bore the taint of demonic corruption, unlike anything he had felt before. The creature was fighting off the succubi with an oddly twisted wooden staff, batting at them ineffectually. But its efforts were feeble at best, laughable at worst, and Nex wasn't sure the creature even realized it. Its eyes had a glazed, vague look, with far more confusion and fear in them than than any sort of belligerence.

The two demons stalking him were flicking at him teasingly with their whips, in no hurry to put the creature out of its misery. In fact, the blows they were inflicting showed well the creative cruelty that was second nature to _succubus inferni_. They would never tire of tormenting their prey, though they may grow bored and kill him then go in search of a less broken victim. The froglike creature was limping, odd dark blood seeping out of a dozen wounds on its legs and arms. A whip slash had cut around its eyes with expert precision above, below, and to either side, leaving the orbs themselves unharmed but blinded by blood and swelling. It continued to make its pitiful, hoarse cries, though for the life of him Nex couldn't figure out whether the beast actually thought anything would be coming to its aid here at the edge of oblivion with nothing but jagged cliffs for miles in all directions.

Then again, by some twist of fate Nex _was_ here, so it wasn't as if the cries had gone unheard. And though he delighted in killing all demons equally, he had a special place in his heart for succubi.

"Enough." It was not Nex who had spoken, but the succubus leaning against the tree. She had straightened and was now stalking forward. Normally when succubi spoke their voices were harsh and guttural, but there was a time when their voices flowed like silk over smooth skin. "This creature is male, though it barely qualifies as such. Let's show it true torment." Then with a soft croon the demon's stalking stride became a seductive, fluid glide, and as the crooning continued she began running her hands teasingly over flesh that would have made any man's mouth dry. It seemed even the froglike creature wasn't immune to her charms, for his fighting ceased as he stared at her, his toothy mouth going slack in a sort of glazed, lust-filled stupor. He had obviously never seen a succubus in the midst of seduction before, or he wouldn't have looked so eager.

Nex had seen it. More than he ever wanted to. And never intended to see it again if it could be helped. He dropped lightly down into the hollow in front of the helpless thing and straightened slowly. "This world must be pathetic indeed," he said in demonic, "if this is all you can find to amuse you."

If the succubi were surprised they showed no sign of it, although two of them moved to flank him on either side while the third switched the focus of its crooning song from the frog-thing to Nex, sliding dainty clawed hands along delightful flesh with even more seductive grace. Nex felt the waves of the seduction spell pulse over him. While there was a physical component to the spell as well, which might even be enough to sway lesser men desperate for sex, the main danger of it was her crooning, which filled the mind and dulled every thought, every emotion, but blank intense lust.

Nex went still under the force of it, the succubus smiling as she saw him apparently reacting to her siren's call. He'd found that if he wanted to take a prisoner, the best time was early in the battle while the enemy was still unaware of the danger.

The succubus slowed directly in front of him, running an idle hand along his cheek. "Soft," she purred. "Such perfect smooth skin. What sort of mortal are you, for you surely don't live on this world?" Nex made no reply, and she laughed lightly. "You can answer, mortal. We're going to have lots of fun together."

"The only fun I have with your kind is watching the life fade from your eyes," Nex said. Then he snapped to life, and in a sudden motion swung the torpedo he'd held hidden under his cloak up and across, slamming the succubus in the head hard enough to shatter bones. From what he knew of succubi, and there wasn't much he didn't know of the vile things, it would be just enough to knock her unconscious. With her mouth opened in a surprised shout that never left her perfect lips she dropped bonelessly to the ground.

One of her sisters cried out in dismay and lifted her whip to lash at him, but before she could Nex closed the distance between them and used his torpedo to knock the whip from her fingers. Then he thrust the heavy-bladed knife he'd drawn in his other hand into the demon's chest below her perfect left breast. The flimsy cloth the succubus wore slowed the knife's thrust as a mail tunic would have, but his aim was true. The succubus gave a cry like a woman in orgasm and sprawled backwards, clawed hands clutching at the wound desperately even as the knife's powerful demonslaying enchantment ate at her flesh, revealing the corruption beneath.

Nex looked away from her towards the third creature. The knife had struck what passed for a demon's heart; the creature would die quickly.

A noise from the dying creature turned him back just as the succubus raised one hand, as if in supplication. "We could have been good," she croaked, alluring voice harshening back to its normal form. "I've never had a mortal like you before."

Nex turned his head back to her for a moment and spat, the spittle splattered across the demon's perfect cheek. "And you never will, bitch. The Abyss take you."

The succubus smiled, or perhaps showed her teeth. Blood appeared at the corner of one lip and trickled down, but though her eyes were glazing she managed to extend a serpent's tongue and lick up the spittle. It gave a little shudder. "I'll see you there, soon." There was no longer anything even remotely feminine about the creature's voice. The succubus gave one last dying cry, and its eyes seemed to lose focus, gazing at something past Nex's shoulder.

Nex started to relax, kicking the demon in the ribs for good measure, when something warm and dry as a snake's scales wrapped around his throat and yanked him off his feet.

Of course. He had too much fun when he killed succubi, it always made him lower his guard. Warm and dry the whip may have been, but as it stayed in contact with his skin it began to burn, the flames licking at his chin and chest. His demon skin absorbed much of the heat, but not all, and it did nothing to prevent the lash from cutting off his breath.

Nex felt himself falling, and he twisted desperately to get a hand under him to cushion his landing. But even as his hand thrust out another lash caught his wrist and jerked his arm away. He landed hard on his ribs, the wind knocked from him. A dull pain flashed through him from his left hip, and he could only assume he'd hit a rock while landing. He looked up to see the last succubus standing over him, a whip in either hand pulled taut to keep the pressure on his neck and wrist. She'd picked up the whip of the one he'd knocked out while he wasn't looking.

Instead of trying to attack him, she began crooning, beginning the same seductive spell her sister had attempted, and failed. Succubi were nothing if not arrogant; she likely thought she was more alluring.

Nex reached with his free hand and grabbed the whip around his throat, yanking on it powerfully. Succubi were stronger than they looked, and she didn't appear too concerned with his efforts until she found herself flying towards him; Nex was stronger than he looked too.

With the pressure off his bound wrist Nex reached out and caught the demon by the throat. "Seduction hasn't worked on me in seven years," he said into her wide eyes. Then his skin began to burn as he cast the costly but highly satisfying immolation spell, and as the flames licked out they caught the succubus and began to burn away that perfect skin. The creature screamed, like her sister also making a cry like a woman at the height of pleasure. Then Nex's fist closed completely around her throat, crushing it, and she went silent with grim finality.

. . . . .

Nex finished tying up the captured succubus using her sister's whips, then looped the last whip around his waist in an arrangement that would stay tied unless he grasped the handle at his hip and tugged. Within moments it would be loose in his hand, ready for use. It was an arrangement that had taken him a long time to work out, and near enough the only way to carry a whip for quick access. The process was complicated, but this was not the first time he'd carried a whip other than the semi-sentient one he'd taken from Rachondimus, and he had it bound at his waist, looking like nothing more than a belt, in moments.

Then he turned to where the frog-creature still huddled against the cliff wall. It appeared to consider Nex as great a threat as the defeated succubi, and was holding its twisted stick defensively in shaking hands. Nex moved forward slowly, hands held outward to convey harmlessness. "I will not hurt you," he said in demonic, on the off chance that the creature's demonic corruption indicated some association with demons and it would know the language. But the flat toothy face remained blank, though perhaps more fearful at hearing that foul language used. Nex sighed. "Can you understand me?" he said in Common. Of course there was almost no chance that an otherworldly creature would speak any Azerothian language.

Then the dull, confused eyes cleared for but a moment, and the creature croaked "mercy," in Orcish.

Nex blinked in surprise. Of course he knew Orcish, nearly as well as he knew Common. Lynda's cave had been deep within orc territory when he was young, until the orcs had been defeated, and even then rogue orcs had infested the area for years, and still did in some places. For that matter orc warlocks were some of the most powerful and dangerous to be found, and certainly the most experienced. Any self-respecting demonologist would speak the language, and Lynda had possessed a great many treatises on demonic magic penned in Orcish.

The question was why this creature, crouching in a hut on the edge of a continent floating a stone's throw from the Twisting Nether, halfway within the chaotic plane of the Twisting Nether itself, should be speaking Orcish. It could have been a fluke, the creature making a noise that sounded like communication. Nex stepped forward, ignoring the way the creature shied back. "You know of orcs?" he asked in Orcish.

The creature shied away, still looking confused and frightened. "Know no plans. Sit in hut, try think. Please, know nothing."

Perhaps some of its poor communication could be blamed on a poor grasp of Orcish, but Nex had a feeling the demonic energy which had corrupted the poor creature was influencing its mind. Most of the time demonic corruption scoured away higher thought, leaving in its place a sort of mindless bloodlust. To see loss of mental powers without the concurrent bloodlust was strange, but not impossible.

Such thoughts were immaterial, however. His master was here, and he'd assumed his master would go to Draenor. But despite the fact that this creature was speaking Orcish this most certainly wasn't a world, and all accounts he'd heard of Draenor which the expeditionary force the Sons of Lothar, led by High General Turalyon, had sent back through the Dark Portal indicated that Draenor had been a world like Azeroth.

Of course, there had been rumors about the raid Ner'zhul and Teron Gorefiend had led into Azeroth to steal powerful magical artifacts. Reports from the Dark Portal before it had been destroyed from the other side suggested that Ner'zhul had used the artifacts to open several portals that were destroying the land around them.

Could it be that Ner'zhul's portals had entirely ripped Draenor apart, creating this bizarre jumble of islands that was half in and half out of the Twisting Nether?

Perhaps. It was possible the creature would know. Nex crouched down, making himself smaller than the hunchbacked thing, and drew some bandages from his pack. The creature flinched. "Easy," he said. "These are for healing." Without waiting for the creature to respond one way or another Nex began carefully bandaging the worst of its wounds. They had been made to cause pain, but loss of blood would eventually kill the little creature, and Nex needed him alive. "Where are we?"

Dull eyes stared at him. "By cliff."

Nex fought a spark of irritation. "No. What world?"

"Is no world. Is rock. Sometimes things grow." The creature gave a slight cry of pain as Nex, in his frustration, bound a bandage too tightly. He quickly loosed the bandage and tied it on correctly.

"Do you know of Draenor?" he asked instead.

The creature's eyes widened. "Know Draenor," it said.

"Are we on Draenor?"

The dull eyes dimmed further, and Nex almost thought the creature looked sad. "Draenor dead."

He suppressed another flash of irritation. "_Was_ this Draenor before it died?" Only dull incomprehension. With a growl Nex pushed back to his feet. Perhaps the creature knew something useful, but the thought of trying to find it in spite of the creature's poor grasp of Orcish and his dull, unfocused mind made him weary. "Stay here," he ordered tersely, walking away from the creature and pushing his way into the little hut. The first thing he saw, one of the only objects in the tiny space aside from a pallet of filthy cloth and a small pitcher of water, was an object so bizarre it took him a moment to recognize it as a warhammer.

And not just any warhammer, but one so superiorly crafted that he had scarcely seen its like, even on Azeroth.

The head was oval-shaped, formed of some odd crystal, purple and semi-translucent. It looked fragile, but from the minute scratches and dings on it (assuming the warhammer had been used for its intended purpose) it had to be nearly has hard as diamond. Unless he missed his guess, the grip was composed of adamantite, a mineral so rare on Azeroth that finding the materials for the four-foot length of the haft would be impossible. Not only was it made of rare materials and looked well-made, but it was also decorated with intricate patterns he didn't recognize.

One thing he did recognize, however, was that it had been spellforged and enchanted with the Light, and with such sophistication that most paladins would envy it. Nex moved forward, tempted by the thought of such a weapon, but as he touched it pain seared up his arm, the holy weapon rejecting him. He stepped back with a hiss, glaring. Likely he could disenchant it for potent materials, but the thought of destroying such a beautiful weapon struck him as not so much wasteful as criminal.

After a moment he took a filthy blanket from the creature's bed-pallet and used it to pick up the weapon, taking it outside. As soon as the frog-thing saw the hammer its eyes widened. "Put back," it croaked frantically, starting to come to its feet, then falling to its knees in distress. "Put back."

Nex shoved the weapon into the creature's arms, but it dropped it to the ground with a wail. Like Nex, it appeared the weapon pained it to hold as well. "How did you come by this?" he demanded. "Who did you steal it from?"

The hammer had apparently galvanized the little creature to more coherent thought. "Mine," it gibbered. "Before, it mine." The frog creature actually appeared to be weeping as it took the cloth and reverently wrapped the hammer in it, then lifted it up into its arms, cradling it as gently as a child.

Was it possible that before being corrupted this creature had been a servant of the Light? Perhaps had even wielded the hammer against the Burning Legion? A tragic waste, to have the hammer in such worthless hands. Nex knelt down in front of the creature once more. "What sort of creature are you, who possesses such a fine hammer that he can't even touch?"

Tears fell freely from the creature's eyes. "Draenei," it said in a broken voice. "Was. Orcs came, warhorns call, choking clouds of poison. Never leave your weapon. never...he...I..." Confusion once more, and it looked away, huddled around its weapon. "Can't leave. Hurts to touch, can't leave. _Why has the Light forsaken me?_" This last was spoken with such vehemence that Nex fell backwards in surprise, nearly losing his balance. That had been far more coherent, and full of deep, abiding bitterness and rage.

Nex smiled grimly. "The Light will not stay in a broken vessel," he said.

The creature looked up blankly. "Yes. Broken. They call us that, whole Draenei. Should be happy they untainted, but hate them. Drive us away, throw stones, make us live in little camps starving. Tell us we repent or Light won't come, but Light stay away."

Nex fought between contempt and disgust, looking at the Broken Draenei. Better to die than to be reduced to such a state. It was no wonder the untainted members of its kind despised it. "Listen to me, and try to understand," he said calmly. "The Burning Legion has scouts flying all along here. These succubi who attacked you may be the first, but they will not be the last. You have to flee west, towards the setting sun."

Still protectively clutching the hammer, the creature stared at him blankly. "West," it said, and something in its voice changed. "Sha'tar'ath?"

Nex flinched at the word, although he didn't know why. "I don't know. But the main demon force seems to be to the east, so you have to flee away from them."

"West," the creature said again. "Naaru wander. Things grow. They see me now?" It was obviously a question for him, but Nex could only shrug. He didn't give a damn either way; he'd heard of the naaru, of course. The godlike energy beings that stood as the strongest foes of the Burning Legion. Strongest, and most useless; Nex didn't think much of the way they sat by and took no direct hand against the demons. At best they offered succor to the innocents the demons slew, and aided them in rebuilding if they survived.

Still mumbling about the beings of Light the creature turned away, stooping to pick up its twisted stick in its free hand. At the pen it knocked aside one of the fence supports, causing a section to collapse, and with a few hoarse cries herded the small huddle of fel-corrupted pigs towards a narrow crack on the far side of the plateau.

. . . . .

Nex watched it go until it was out of sight, then turned back to the captive succubus. She was awake, now, staring at him through slitted eyes. "You have me helpless," she said in a low, sultry voice. "It's a perfect time to have your way with me."

Nex strode over to her, pulling out his last remaining torpedo and pressing the wicked thorium point to her delicate throat. "I have some questions for you, demon."

The creature laughed. "Work before pleasure, mortal?" She began to croon softly, beginning her seduction, and Nex casually backhanded her with the torpedo rod. The blow would have shattered the bones of a normal person, but it barely bruised the succubus's jaw. Delicate as they looked, they were tough creatures.

"That didn't work the first time, what makes you think it'll work this time?" he asked calmly.

"Do you think pain will sway me? _Me_?" the succubus laughed throatily, as well she should. They often served as torturers in the Burning Legion, and only the nathrezim delighted more in causing torment. "Do you think there is anything of pain I do not know, mortal?"

"Pain is a terrible way to get information. I prefer more direct methods." Without hesitation Nex lifted the torpedo and slammed one of the wicked points into her forehead. Not hard enough to kill her, of course, but enough to pierce her skull and penetrate deep enough that the metal touched against her brain.

The succubus gave a cry of almost ecstasy and writhed in her bonds. "Yes, keep it coming, mortal." Nex smiled slightly, then gathered his mental concentration and power and slammed into her mind with a psionic assault. Demons were notoriously resistant to mental attacks, which is why he'd pierced her skull and channeled the spell through the metal of the torpedo, providing him a conduit straight to her mind. Even so she resisted strongly, but now her smiles were gone, and her struggling within her bonds not teasing but sincere. "What is this foolishness?" she gasped. "Do you think you can truly probe my mind without finding madness, mortal? The demonic nature of my mind will eat through your consciousness like a plague, eroding your sanity."

"There are some who would say I'm already mad. As to the other, we're not so different as you think." Nex increased the force of his mental assault, and his cry of pain echoed hers as he finally broke the last of her mental defenses and pushed into her mind. He didn't spend long in there. No matter what he'd said, there was so much darkness, corruption, bloodlust, and vile hatred within her thoughts that he couldn't stand it for long. But he was there long enough to get what he needed.

He broke the contact, and they both fell silent. "Is it time for fun now, creature?" she asked in her sultry, seductive voice."

"No. It's time to die." Nex tightened his grip on the torpedo and in one smooth motion finished driving it into her head, through the back of her skull, and into the ground beneath. It killed her instantly, before she could even raise a death cry.

Then he stood and turned grimly towards the north. He had been right, this world was not wholly subdued. And the aerial scouts he'd seen _were_ part of a larger force, led by a pit lord called Magtheridon who styled himself Lord of Outland.

But mostly he had been right about this world. Or what remained of it. It had indeed been Draenor, until Ner'zhul's portals had ripped it apart. Those six portals had all led to demon-controlled worlds, perhaps worlds that Ner'zhul had learned of in his communion with the demon lords he served. After the portals had ripped Draenor apart Magtheridon had come through, seen a purpose for this world that had six portals to other worlds and a link to Azeroth through the rift where the Dark Portal had stood, as well as being halfway inside the Twisting Nether. Using his power he had begun dragging the island-continents together, and named this place Outland.

So many ways by which demonic reinforcements could be funneled to this world, and the Rift, made it a perfect staging area for a Burning Legion assault on Azeroth. And unlike previous attempts, which had relied on temporary portals that only allowed a comparative handful of demons through, rebuilding the Dark Portal would allow for an invasion far greater than anything the orcs could have managed.

By the same token, Nex had access to several Burning Legion worlds, and could even attack demons from the Twisting Nether. The thought made him so happy he could hardly contain it.

He dragged his pack into the abandoned Draenei hut, sat down on the filthy pallet, and began taking out his toys.


	3. Come my Minions

Updated on Friday as promised, and with a whole thirty-five minutes to spare ^^.

Chapter Two

Come My Minions

Around him the camp was still, sleeping, the sentries out of sight but watching with keen eyes. In his blankets Puros should have slept as well, but as with every other night in this Light-forsaken land sleep would not come. He was exhausted, but every time he closed his eyes terrible dreams came to him. Those were enough to chase him from sleep on their own, but even when there were no dreams he'd find himself waking with a start, frantic without knowing why and limbs twitching without his willing them to.

During the day things were little better. The night elves had refused to let him accompany patrols the second day, tired of his blundering about. Demons had attacked their meager camp once or twice more since that first battle with the imps and demon dogs, though the attacks had been random and didn't seem to indicate any sort of cohesion among the twisted creatures. He'd fought then, and fought well, but slaying a felhound or felguard here and there wasn't enough to ease his frustration.

Maiev showed no signs of going anywhere. He had thought they would capture Illidan and return home, but now it seemed as if she actually meant to remain on this demon-infested world forever. The thought of living to old age here, or more likely dying to a demon's claws far sooner, helped to fuel his nightmares and restlessness.

Another factor that aided in nightmares was the creature, Illidan Stormrage. He'd been locked in the magic-suppressing cage they'd brought with them from Azeroth, and the cage had been left in the center of camp where it was heavily guarded. So far the night elves ignored him completely. Even Maiev, showing no hurry to begin administering the torment she'd promised, barely gave the cage a second glance. But within it Illidan watched: Maiev, if she was anywhere in sight, and the fel glow burning behind his blindfold increased in intensity whenever his gaze was upon her. But far more often she was nowhere to be seen, and then his gaze fell disconcertingly on Puros himself.

The demonic creature had even tried to lure Puros over for a conversation, a thing Puros had done his best to ignore, as he ignored that piercing gaze falling upon him whenever he was in sight and Maiev wasn't around. Perhaps it was simply that he was the only human in the camp, and a novelty in the midst of all the night elves.

With a frustrated growl he pushed out of his blankets and shoved out of his tent into the darkness. Though it was broiling hot by day, by night it fell to nearly freezing temperatures; Puros was dressed lightly, in a short quilted tunic and breeches, and the cold pressed in on him, making him shiver. He didn't turn to put on anything warmer, however; even uncomfortable, he still embraced the cold as a welcome relief from the terrible heat. Stopping only to pull on his boots and take up his poleaxe, he strode through the camp and around the base of the low rise they still huddled against, and made his way up that rise to its peak. The first night the sentries had stopped him to demand to know what he was doing. The second night they'd at least greeted him. Last night they had not even revealed their location as he passed, and this night was no different.

Atop the rise, as he'd done every night previously, he knelt and called to the Light. If he could not sleep, better to spend his time in prayer than in tossing and turning.

The Light was different here than on Azeroth. No less potent or willing to answer his call, but in ways more... strained... as if rather than routing the darkness it was forced to actually fight it tooth and nail for every scrap of brightness. Even within its comforting grasp Puros could feel the uneasy weight of nothingness hanging over his head, and if Illidan was to be believed in every other direction as well.

But as he prayed he felt its warm radiance falling over him, chasing away the cold, his discomfort, and his worries all. He could feel the gentler times of his days in Azeroth: as a boy first learning the peace and glory of his faith, as a young man fighting grimly against the orcs, as a hardened veteran fighting the twisted Plague of Undeath and then later the Burning Legion itself in that last desperate struggle below Hyjal. All the memories of a life spent in service to the Light and humanity rested upon his shoulders like a mantle, until even the prospect of staying on this hellish world for the remainder of his life didn't fill him with the dismay it once had.

Perhaps an hour into his prayers some instinct warned him of watching eyes. There was nothing to alert his senses to them, and intent on his pleas to the Light it was possible those eyes had been upon him for a long time. He turned his head slowly, expecting to see Shadowsong or one of the night elves watching him. Instead he saw a huddled shape not ten paces away, crouched low and watching him with a low gleam of reflected light in its eyes. Even in the darkness he could see the creature's misshapen nature, and extending his senses through the Light could feel the corruption which plagued it.

He came to his feet in a rush, polearm at ready, but the peace of his prayers had not wavered, and to his deep surprise the Light revealed to him the creature's heart. Though troubled by the vileness which had destroyed its body, that heart was pure and innocent, though the mind which guided it had become nearly as clouded and confused as a beast's. "Who are you?" he asked.

The creature limped forward, until the radiance of the Light which still suffused Puros fell across its features. It held a bundle in its arms, as carefully as a loving mother would cradle a babe, but the closer it came the more the ugliness of its appearance was revealed. For all the promptings of the Light Puros still could not help but feel revulsion. The creature croaked out a halting, incomprehensible message, but by the grace of the Light its mind was revealed. "Nordos, of Telredor. Forgive my intrusion, servant of the Light, but it has been so long. So long, and so dark. When I felt your faith shining like a beacon I had to come. Even if I can no longer feel the Light as you can, to simply be in the presence of one it shines upon is..." the creature looked away, tears dripping from its beady little eyes, "I have been in darkness for so long."

His revulsion faded at the tone in the twisted creature's voice. It was a longing so deep and poignant it tore at his heart, speaking of the Light with the familiarity of one who had once basked in its radiance as strongly as he. "You are no demon or orc. What has happened to make you this way?"

Nordos did not look back at him, but in the revealing Light which opened their minds to one another Puros saw a city, grand and spoked like a wheel, half surrounded by a strong circular wall, and the other half nestled beneath a tall, mighty mountain range. And though he had never seen the city before he knew it was Sha'tar'ath, City of Light. He saw the Draenei defending its walls and knew them as well, though he had never seen them before. Though mighty in craft and in the Light, the Draenei had been peaceful for too long, and the storm of war which the orcs had brought upon them had come too quickly and brutally for them to truly prepare. All other outposts and villages of Nordos's people had fallen to the demon-influenced brutes, until finally Sha'tar'ath was a lone bastion in a sea of orcish, ogre, and gronn armies led by vicious warlords lusting for blood.

He saw the battle in its entirety, futile as it was. He saw the orcish catapults flinging vile warlock piss over the walls, and the sad refugees trapped within the lower city being overcome by it, but finding no peace in death. Instead the vile substance had taken away the nobility of their race, severed their connection with the Light, and devolved them into scarce better than animals. Nordos, before a powerful, noble creature armored in golden plate and armed with a mighty hammer, had been within the lower city when it happened, trying to keep order among the refugees. He had succumbed to the orc's demonic substance but had not fallen into unconsciousness, and had been forced to hear the brutal battle that followed, hear the screams of his people dying and being cruelly imprisoned and tormented.

Puros gave a low cry of grief, the memory as terrible and horrifying as if it had been his own. Nordos gave his own grieving cry, still sunk deeply in memories that in his broken and corrupted state he had not even been able to recall until this moment. He barely seemed aware of Puros anymore, recalling with poignant grief the most terrible griefs of his past.

After the city had fallen and he had been afflicted with the demonic corruption he had wandered alone for long years in the most desolate regions of Draenor, crying out endlessly to the Light but receiving no answer. Fleeing from orcish hunting parties, fleeing also from his own people, which spat upon his twisted body and hurled bruising stones. He'd fled alone, until the cataclysm came which tore the world apart and hurled all its landmasses away to drift like floating islands. Through the mind of the devolved Draenei Puros finally saw the edge of the continent and the terrible nothingness which lay in every direction, save for the horrible maw of grinding, molten stone which was all that remained of the planet's core.

"Why do you still live?" he asked. The question was neither an insult nor an accusation, but simply him trying to understand what had sustained the wretched Draenei through the terrible years. The creature didn't answer with words. Instead Puros saw it again, huddled in a pitiful hut at the edge of the world, overlooking its horrifying drop. He saw something like a floating city drift past, shining with godly radiance, and upon it creatures of pure Light. His heart soared within him, for he knew what these creatures were, even as Nordos in his pitiful state had still been able to recognize them. "Naaru," he whispered.

No servant of the Light could fail to know of the godlike beings that led the fight against the Burning Legion, though they were too mighty, and too engaged in their desperate war, to have ever come to Azeroth. That they had come to this broken world to try to put the pieces back together and restore some measure of pride and dignity to the scattered remnants of the Draenei was remarkable. "They roam the world, making things grow," Nordos whispered. "Their leader has come to where the Draenei pray in the ruined temple at Sha'tar'ath, and the call has gone out for all servants of the Light to gather and rebuild that sacred city."

As if the creature's words had alerted him, Puros suddenly felt a deep ache in his chest, and a desperate longing to go to Sha'tar'ath and kneel before the naaru in worship. Nordos, too, shared that desire. Puros walked in his mind as, months ago, he'd taken that long journey from his meager hut to the shining city. But Nordos had not gone in, nor approached too closely. Though the longing for the city burned in his breast like fire, the dread of facing his whole, unbroken people, of seeing the disgust in their faces, of presenting his broken body before a god, had at last overwhelmed even that burning desire, and he had returned to his little hut in defeat.

"Perhaps," Nordos whispered, as timid as a child asking its mother for some treat, but fearing it will be refused, "perhaps you will come with me to the sacred city. I could be your squire, and at least serve some good purpose in the Light."

An almost overwhelming urge to accept the offer came over him, so strong he saw himself running to his tent and packing up his things. So strong, even, that he imagined abandoning all and following after Nordos here and now. Then he reluctantly put such a dream aside. He had a duty to his allies, the night elves, to remain with them until their position was more settled. But perhaps he could convince Shadowsong to go to this City of Light.

The Draenei seemed to sense his thoughts, for it looked at him with disappointment and sadness. "I have not forgotten honor," he said, "nor the bonds it places on a godly man's heart. But if you can, ever, go to Sha'tar'rath. There you will meet your heart's desire of joining a true work, rebuilding a world rather than rebuilding a mere city." Then the creature knelt before him, placing its bundle upon the ground at his feet. "I am grateful, all the same, for the gift you have given me of letting me bask in the Light after so long. Though it pains my corrupted body it has illumined my confused mind. I only pray I can be so blessed when I am in the presence of the naaru. Take this, paladin, and use it for righteousness."

Puros knelt, drawing aside the tattered wrappings to reveal a magnificent hammer, the same the paladin Nordos had been had wielded in defense of his people. He recognized neither the crystalline material that made up its head nor the bluish metal that made up its haft, but it had been expertly made and worked with holy glyphs, and he could feel the Light radiating from it. It was an ancient weapon, used so often in the cause of righteousness and Lightforged with such mighty spells that any corrupt hand which held it must burn. Indeed, Nordos shied away as soon as it was uncovered, though his eyes were filled with longing to hold it once again. Puros, whispering a fervent prayer to the Light, stretched forth his hand to pick the warhammer up.

As his fingers closed around the bluish metal haft brilliant Light surged around and through both him and the hammer. Nordos gave a cry, equal parts exultant and agonized, and fell away, the holy radiance burning at his corrupted flesh. Yet even as he cringed back from the Light's embrace he stretched forth a clawed, misshapen hand, a hungry and sorrowful look on his face.

Then the Light overwhelmed everything with whiteness, until he seemed to be alone in a formless colorless brilliance. Only the hammer, the wondrous hammer, remained within his view. And within the embrace of that holy Light he felt the hammer for the first time.

It was not like the dark malignant will of Nex's vile whip, which he still carried at the bottom of his pack. The hammer was not sentient, nor even alive. It was not even animate, in that sense. Yet he felt a connection to it all the same, as if it had become a part of him, an extra limb or an extension of his will. It was similar to the familiarity he still felt for the first weapon he had ever borne, a rusty old warhammer in the practice yards. He had gripped that splintering haft so often it felt part of his arm, and swinging it as easy and natural as touching his nose. That same familiarity extended to this alien warhammer, as if he had used it all his life.

But more than that, he felt that he could set the weapon aside and leave, and if someone came and carried it away he would be able to with just a moment's thought know exactly where to find it. Even beyond that, as if he could simply reach out and no matter where the hammer lay it would come to his hand. It was truly a blessed weapon, and it had not found its way to him by chance.

"Purity's Burden," he whispered. It was the name of his hammer. He was as certain of that as he was of his own name.

The devolved Draenei made a sort of gibbering noise, and it took a moment for Puros to realize that it was attempting to communicate, but the Light no longer gave understanding to their words. Its task done, the broken Draenei's mind was swift reverting to its confused, barely sentient state. But still he could look at the creature and see the tall, proud paladin Nordos had once been. He could see the Draenei, too, wielding Purity's Burden as naturally as if he'd been born with the weapon in his hand, and had never set it aside.

Sudden pity overwhelmed him for this sad creature before him, that had carried blessed Purity's Burden all this time but had been unable to touch it with his cursed hands. He took up the finely made poleaxe he had acquired in Dalaran and proffered it. "Not a weapon to match the one you have just given me, but these lands are dangerous and full of demons. Take it, and may you find your way safe to Sha'tar'ath and the peace you long for.

Nordos stared at him in incomprehension, then with a low grunt took the polearm and fled. Puros watched the wretched creature leave, feeling equal parts pity, horror, and a hot burning anger at the depravity of orcs that would do such a thing to peaceful, innocent creatures.

Then a demon landed on his back.

. . . . .

The blow struck him hard enough to knock the wind from his lungs. Even though the creature had been flapping to slow its fall somewhat the sheer weight of it would have killed him instantly if he hadn't still been buffered by the Light. At the last second the demon shied away with a snarl, clipping his shoulders with its hooved feet rather than landing with its full weight atop him, knocking him sprawling.

Puros struggled to his knees, hammer gripped tightly in one hand. A hoarse, mad cackle from the creature warned him just as the demon recovered from its hard landing and tackled him. He went down on his back with nearly five hundred pounds of demon on top of him, clawed hands scrabbling at his chest and arms, a knee like a rock maul slamming into his hips and trying to find a more vulnerable mark. The only thing that kept the creature's foul teeth from his throat was the haft of Purity's Burden, which he'd wedged desperately into the ground under one arm with the hammer's head shoved into the creature's mouth holding it back.

It was saving him, but wouldn't for long. The creature's mindless frenzy was the only reason he was still alive; he could feel the overwhelming strength of those massive limbs in every poorly aimed blow, and it would only be a matter of time before the immense weight and savagery of his enemy afforded it a lucky strike that would mortally injure him.

Crying out to the Light, he heaved with all his strength, and found a bit of luck himself when the frenzied demon slipped slightly to the side. He rolled desperately, calling a divine shield around himself, and a moment later he was on his feet. The demon gave another crazed laugh as it, too, came to its feet and lunged at him.

It was an ugly brute, green as poison and hairy as a goat, with a fearsome gaping maw in its stomach that Puros wasn't sure was part of the fiend's armor or an actual orifice. He didn't have long to look before the demon was on him, but now he was on his feet and prepared.

And he had Purity's Burden.

He ducked under a powerful swipe of the creature's massive arm, swinging his hammer right at the gaping mouth in the creature's stomach. It connected powerfully, but without apparent effect: armor, then. A hooved foot raised to kick at him, and Puros spun away, swinging the hammer in a 270 degree spin and catching the creature on the knee of the leg holding all its weight. The hammer struck like a thunderbolt, snapping the limb cleanly, and the demon went down with a shriek, the ground noticeably shaking as it landed.

Having its leg broken didn't seem to deter the crazed monster much, though. In a surge of motion it came up on its hands and one leg like a limping dog and lunged at him, a real mouth with far too many razor teeth snapping at his face.

Puros again ducked aside, and the creature jerked in midair with a terrible scream and collapsed in a tumble rather than landing on its remaining limbs. Puros wasn't certain why until he saw the wisps of smoke rising from an arrow in the creature's back, and then a moment later the entire demon burst into flames and it gave another horrible scream and ran for the edge of the rise, batlike wings flapping desperately even as the membrane burned. Instead of rising to the air it sunk like a stone out of sight, to the accompaniment of surprised shouts and terrified screams from the night elves below.

Puros turned to see Mistress Fadingstar coolly slinging her massive bow across her back. She said something in Kaldoreen he didn't recognize. It had the sound of a question, or perhaps an admonition.

"I'm sorry, Mistress," he said politely. "I thank you for your aid, but I cannot understand you."

"She's calling you a fool," Maiev growled, appearing from nowhere off to one side, chakram poised to strike even though no enemies remained. "And she's right to do so: coming up here and praying to your precious Light all the night long, making a lovely shining beacon for every eye within a hundred miles. Had I a notion this was what you were doing I would've put a stop to it the first night. It's a wonder every demon on this barren rock isn't swarming our encampment."

Another burst of mad laughter turned all their eyes upwards in time to see two more winged shapes flying away swiftly. Fadingstar said something, voice heavy with annoyance and disgust, and Maiev nodded grimly. "Yes, there's still time." She spat out a burst of Kaldoreen at her Watcher, and Fadingstar saluted grimly and ran for the path leading down to the camp. Maiev started to turn, then paused. "Get ready to move out, human. We've huddled under this cliff too long, and it's going to cost us. Now that the demons know we're here we need to move to a defensible position, and quickly."

Then she disappeared in another Blink, and Puros was left once more on the ridge, shaken by the demon's attack and wearied by his communion with the Light.

With a last wary glance upwards he slung Purity's Burden over his shoulder and trotted towards the camp as well.

. . . . .

"The scouts are saying that there are two likely defensible positions," Emaille said helpfully, moving to stand beside where Puros watched the Warden and her commanders arguing beside Illidan's wagon. "One is more secure against ground troops, but the way the ridges lie there would allow flying adversaries to be nearly upon us before we sighted them. The other is out in the open, where any aerial attack would perish swiftly to our arrows, but the terrain is less defensible against attack by ground."

Puros shook his head. "In all my battles with the Burning Legion, I've never seen them mount an aerial assault. Their fliers are too few and too valuable to be wasted on such a strategy."

The young night elf shook her head dubiously. "On this world of drifting islands perhaps the demon lords have gathered far more flying troops than they could bring to Azeroth." She hesitated, listening, then shrugged. "It seems Lady Shadowsong agrees with your perspective, paladin. We're going to the first. Likely because it is closer as well."

The commanders around Maiev all saluted and ran off to their specific commands. In a remarkably short time the night elf army, already packed and arranged in marching order, were setting out, while nearly half of the huntresses and bowwomen split away in all directions and disappeared into the landscape, probably scouting.

Back at the wagon only Fadingstar and her command remained, while Maiev had disappeared with another Blink. Fadingstar turned towards them and barked out a terse command in Kaldoreen, and Emaille replied timidly and turned to him. "My Mistress has been tasked with securing the Betrayer's wagon and conveying it to our new position. Unless you wish to march with the main army you had best come with me."

"Very well," Puros said, moving to follow her. Though he was already broiling he had put on his full armor, unwilling to be without his gear if it came to battle. Though it was selfish to think so, he deeply regretted not bringing the warhorse he had borrowed from Garithos through the portal with him. To do so would have been little better than theft, but if he had to move about in this ungodly heat he'd rather do it with horseflesh between his legs.

As it turned out, he needn't have longed for a horse to ride. The pace the wagon set was so slow that even roasting in his heavy armor he had no trouble keeping up, or even finding nice shaded spots to rest and cool off. But if he was happy about the progress the wagon was making, he was the only one.

"Move, you damn idiot cat!" Emaille yelled, slapping the rump of one of the harnessed nightsabers with her unstrung bow. The nightsaber, already straining in its harness to no avail, gave a plaintive growl and turned to look at her reproachfully. It had a right to; stuck as the wagon was, the efforts of the big cats alone weren't going to budge it. But Emaille didn't seem willing to acknowledge that fact. "Goddess Elune damn you! Why couldn't we have a few druids of the claw around for this?"

"If you have energy to complain, you have energy to lift stupid wagon," Fienna retorted harshly, giving her young cousin a slap to her own rump.

Puros would have been more amused by the exchange, except then Emaille turned towards him with her hands on her hips. "If I'm lifting you are as well, human. If we have to stand your stink in this heat, you may as well put those ungainly muscles of yours to work."

Puros stood, flushing. Yes, he was sweating, and he could smell himself. But he hardly thought that was the worst of their problems at the moment, or anything worth complaining about. He pressed his shoulder to the wagon beside Emaille, while Fienna coaxed the weary and overburdened nightsabers with a more gentle voice.

The position, unfortunately, put him almost face to face with Illidan Stormrage, who sat motionless within the cage in the same position he'd held for days. And disconcertingly, the cold green light behind the Betrayer's blindfold was fixed firmly upon him. Puros bit back an oath and put his head down, staring at the ground rather than meeting that unnerving gaze. Beside him Emaille was grunting in a most unladylike fashion as she shoved against the unyielding wagon, and often cursing in an even more unladylike fashion.

"You should be filling your hands with warhammer and shield, paladin," Illidan said, tone equal parts amusement and bitterness. "Soon enough we're going to be overrun." Fadingstar, walking at the wagon's side, cracked the whip she'd been plying the struggling nightsabers with against the bars of the cage and said some warning. Illidan turned to smile mockingly at her, then turned back to Puros. "She says to say nothing, human. But will she tell you that we're fast being left behind, and soon we will be alone in a land ruled by a being so fearsome your mind can scarce comprehend him?"

Emaille laughed, though the gesture sounded forced. "Our scouts are all around us, Betrayer. I've already seen them bring down half a dozen felhounds making for our position." Puros snapped his gaze towards the young elf; he'd seen nothing of scouts or felhounds.

Illidan smiled coldly at her. "Do you seek to reassure the human, infant, or yourself?" Emaille flushed and made no further reply, but in her face Puros saw the truth: they _were_ being left behind by the night elf army, and even the scouts were passing them by.

At the front of the wagon Fienna was cursing like a sailor and yanking on the reins while the nightsabers grumbled and growled, heaving at a wagon that refused to move. "All at once now! On my mark heave with all your strength. One, two, mark!" Puros heaved, feeling stars dance across his vision with the effort, but finally with a grown the wagon rolled up and out of the crack in the ground. Soon it was moving fast enough that his pushing was unnecessary, and he sank to the blistering ground in weary triumph.

Emaille sank to the ground beside him. "If you didn't stink like pig I'd kiss you, human. With your shoulder under the wagon we might actually get somewhere."

Puros was about to answer when a shout from Fienna whirled them both around, in time to hear a deafening _crack_ and watch the entire wagon tilt forward and to the left, crashing down atop a shattered wheel.

. . . . .

"We can't drag the moon-cursed wagon any faster," Emaille said in frustration. "It was never made for going over such rugged terrain, and we've had to repair the damn wheel twice now. If we'd thought to bring a replacement-"

"Don't waste my time with regrets," Maiev said, spinning. "In fact, don't waste my time at all. I'll not let the army be slowed a moment from making Holhallow's Gap into a proper defensible camp. Now that the scouts have passed you by Fadingstar will go out with the huntresses I brought and patrol the area. I, personally, will lead the wagon's escort. Perhaps under my eye you'll make better time."

Emaille wilted slightly, but straightened her shoulders resolutely in spite of the intimidating Warden's glare. "We're falling further and further behind. The aerial scouts must have already picked us out as defenseless and-"

"Let them come!" Maiev snapped, brandishing her chakram. "I've not been properly tested in far too long. As for our pace, it will harm nothing for us to reach the new camp a few hours later."

Illidan stirred within the cage. "You're being awfully cavalier with your own peoples' lives, Shadowsong. But then, you did leave some of your best Watchers to die inside the Tomb of Sargeras while you used your magic to escape to safety. I'm not so pleased with the prospect of you fleeing now and leaving me to be stuck to death by demon swords through the bars of this cage."

Maiev hissed through her teeth. "Believe me, Betrayer. Of all my worries at the moment, your fate is among the least of them."

Illidan threw back his head and laughed, a long, harsh, bitter sound that made Puros's spine writhe and the hairs on his arms stand straight. "My fate should concern you more, Warden. And you have bigger worries than a few slinking terrorfiends flying about."

The Warden's eyes narrowed with annoyance. "What is that supposed to mean, Betrayer? Must I remind you again the punishments I can bring down upon you, with or without that cage? If you have-"

The ground beneath their feet lurched, throwing Puros sideways into Emaille, who gave a strangled yelp as she tripped and sprawled facefirst into the hard stone. Puros got his balance and hurried over to help the young night elf to her feet, enduring the indignant glare she threw his way. In the wagon, which once again tilted crazily on three wheels while the fourth spun crookedly on a broken axle, Illidan was laughing again.

The ground shuddered again, and Puros instinctively turned his gaze northwards. There was a different feel to the air, there.

Maiev must have felt it stronger, for she hissed. "Someone has opened a portal north of us," she said. Her lips drew back in a snarl, and she whirled towards Illidan. "They're using your power alongside their own, Betrayer. This is no demon portal."

Illidan smiled back with amusement. "No, it isn't. I can feel my minion drawing upon her link. Maybe you should get me out of this slow wagon and rush me to your camp before my rescue party arrives."

Maiev laughed mockingly. "Rescue party, Betrayer? I can see you luring fools like that human criminal into your service, but what army would be mad enough to march under your banner?" Illidan only sneered at her, and with an angry grunt the Warden turned away. "Come, human. Let us investigate this portal. Fienna, guard the Betrayer to the death until I return. See if you can make that damn wagon go any faster while you're at it."

Puros hurried to walk beside the irate night elf. "Of all the times I could have been useful to you, why do you call upon me now?"

She threw him a disgusted look. "Can you not figure it out, human? We left that creature Nex behind, the only one who could open a portal here. Now another portal is opening. Do you think it could be anyone but the one you hunt?"

Puros felt his breath catch in his throat. Was it possible? Nex had been greatly strained opening that first portal, and he'd had a trove of priceless night elf artifacts to work with. If he was opening this portal as well, and meant to come through it, this might be the perfect, perhaps the only, opportunity to catch him once and for all.

"Perhaps we should move faster," he said grimly, gripping his Purity's Burden in one hand and his sacred Aegis of Stormwind in the other. It had been a long time since he'd had an opportunity to strap the shield on, but now that he carried a proper hammer once more its protective weight was a comfort on his arm.

It had been blessed to protect against corrupt and evil magics.

. . . . .

The dagger was beautiful, of that there could be no argument. With a blade as long as his hand, narrow as a stiletto but with a wicked point and an impossibly keen double-edge. It had a long, sturdy grip, far bigger than such a weapon required, with a hilt guard that completely encircled his main hand and a large round pommel which fit perfectly in the palm of his off hand; such an overbalanced hilt made throwing the weapon with any sort of accuracy impossible.

But then again, anyone stupid enough to throw this weapon didn't deserve to have it.

Nex stepped off the cliff, letting himself fall ten or so feet before snapping the dagger out in two swift strikes, scoring a small but deep X in the red stone of the cliff face. Then he shoved away from the rock powerfully with one leg, launching himself out into thin air above the nauseating core grinding rocks into molten paste thousands of miles below.

As he fell, he focused his mind on calculating his coordinates in a three-dimensional plane, creating a vector between his constantly changing location and the X he'd slashed into the rock. It had taken a surprising amount of practice to train his mind to such detailed and exact calculations, but then again most mages with their blink spells couldn't go anywhere but directly forward twenty or so yards, and even that seemed to strain their limited intellects.

Not him. He knew his exact location in space, and could with sufficient concentration go wherever he wanted within forty yards in the blink of an eye. It was a skill he'd never bothered to learn before since he'd never been able to draw upon the arcane energies necessary to rift space with a minute teleport.

He still couldn't, but he didn't need to.

About thirty-five yards away from the X he shunted his power into the dagger in his hand, tweaking its matrix with exacting precision. Then he released the power and engaged the dagger's preset matrix.

He disappeared, reappearing with the point of the dagger less than a quarter of an inch from the center of the X. His entire body was braced behind the point of the dagger, his off hand gripping the pommel and his main hand gripping the hilt tightly. When he struck the X it was with the entire force of a freefall of forty yards behind the blow.

Such a thing took even more skill than simply visualizing his location and creating a vector to his desired minute teleportation exit point. He also had to tweak it to come out facing whichever direction he liked, and if kinetic energy was an issue, such as if he was moving or, say, falling at nearly a hundred and fifty miles an hour, he had to redirect that energy in the direction he wanted it.

In this case he'd redirected it directly into the rock wall. The dagger, with all the weight of his body's falling speed behind it, drove directly into the stone at the center of the X, all the way to the hilt. Then, that resistance not even coming close to stopping him, the circular hilt guard hit the stone and it, too, drove in, nearly a full inch this time. His entire body jarred as if he'd been hit by a dragon's tail, but this time he had his jaw clenched and his muscles tensed for the impact, and he weathered it with much less damage; the first time he'd broken his arm and nearly bitten off his tongue.

A lesser dagger, even one crafted by the finest metalsmiths on Azeroth, would have snapped under the extreme pressure. This one had come through all previous tests unscathed, and while he wasn't willing to test the limits of its resilience he was confident it would take considerable effort to actually damage the blade.

Then, all the excitement over, he simply hung by his grip on the embedded dagger, waiting patiently. The dagger's matrix, while incredibly intricate and complex, was also very fragile, and using it to its full potential destabilized it enough to make it unusable for the next five minutes, give or take a second or two, while it stabilized and reset. For blinks over a shorter distance, or with fewer factors such the direction he came out facing or the speed he was going, the cooldown period was much lower: he'd had a lot of fun sprinting in a direction and using the dagger to turn him around 180 degrees sprinting the opposite direction, without actually teleporting any distance at all. The cooldown for that was less than thirty seconds, and after he'd gotten used to the disorientation it had proven to be endlessly amusing.

Truth be told, every use he'd put the weapon to had been endlessly amusing. He was so glad he'd stolen it from Shadowsong's cache of ancient artifacts, rather than disenchanting it and ridding the world of a truly beautiful weapon.

From his limited knowledge of night elf artifacts created in ancient times, he guessed his dagger was a Blinkstrike.

Back during the heyday of night elf magic, when they were so reckless with the seemingly inexhaustible source of power that was the Well of Eternity that their actions drew the attention of the Burning Legion across the vast distance of the Great Dark Beyond, night elves had been obsessed with being able to use all forms of magic. Even the greatest of the Highborne, however, had been limited to the specific forms of magic they were able to call upon. Priestesses of the Moon Goddess could not use arcane magics, and arcanists could not wield nature magics.

The Highborne solution to this, rather than to be envious of what they couldn't have, was to create artifacts that allowed them to create specific spell matrices that could be powered by any form of magic. It was a gross waste of the Well of Eternity's power, and none but the greatest of these artifacts, all since destroyed, allowed them to make use of more than one specific spell.

As Nex understood it, the most common and desired artifacts had been weapons such as this Blinkstrike that allowed for minute teleportation, Tanglesticks which allowed the wielder to encase the target in creeping thornvines, and Ankhs that allowed for the healing of minor wounds or the partial relief of major injuries.

The Blinkstrike's matrix stabilized, allowing him to teleport the ten feet back up to his ledge, and he tucked the weapon into its sheath at his left hip and took out one such Ankh. Sadly the items he'd pilfered from Shadowsong hadn't included a Tanglestick, and his grasp of the Ankh was still inelegant and fumbling at best. He used the Ankh to heal the minor hurts he'd inflicted on himself slamming into the cliff wall: unlike the Blinkstrike, the spell matrix of the Ankh was far more complex, for healing was far more complex and required much more minute and detailed precision. Its cooldown was over an hour, and more if he tested its limits, such as when he'd worked to heal his broken arm. Perhaps once he became more adept at using the complex item he'd be able to do so without destabilizing the matrix so badly, but for now he'd have to deal with it.

He strode over to the pile of other items he'd pilfered from the night elf cache. So far he'd been unable to guess the uses of three of them, one had nearly killed him, and one was apparently useless. This last was a tiny vial of smoky purple glass, enchanted with powerful containment wards to keep trapped whatever was within the minuscule space. It was one of the more potent of the artifacts he'd stolen, but when he'd taken a closer look at it a few days ago he'd realized that whatever the container had held, it was empty now. Since a containment spell powerful enough to hold a demon lord enchanted on a bottle too small to hold his his pinky's fingernail had very limited and specific uses he couldn't even imagine at the moment, the artifact would have made an ideal candidate for disenchanting. But since he was well-stocked with materials at present (also thanks to Shadowsong's store of relics), and he wasn't by nature wasteful, he had kept the little bottle around.

For a moment he stood over the pile, musing. He could tinker with a few of them some more. He was starting to get a feel for what they did, although the purposes they seemed designed for were so specialized that he wondered if it would even be worth the bother. In his pack he had another one he'd discovered the use for, although that was by no means all that exciting: the artifact was simply a Glowstone, which allowed for the creation of surprisingly bright light with a relatively small amount of energy fed into it. With his second sight he didn't need light at all, and the stupid thing had dazzled his eyes now matter how small a trickle he fed into it.

Instead he leaned against the wall of the departed Broken Draenei's crude hut, taking advantage of the limited shade it afforded.

He'd had another relic of the Well of Eternity, once. But unlike these, even the Blinkstrike had been a mere trinket in comparison with it. The Shard of Asteros, which he'd taken from that frost mage in the Magetower of Stormwind City. He'd had almost no time to inspect the wand before Stormrage had taken it from his hands, but he knew it was powerful. And the ability to hurl a brawny paladin in full armor twenty feet through the air was among the least of its uses.

Inactivity was grating on him, especially since he had things he could do. If nothing else, it was fun to play with the Blinkstrike. But it would be more responsible to sort through the rest of the artifacts and try to uncover their uses.

It turned out the point was moot, since just before he'd decided to finally begin tinkering with a hedgehog-shaped thing he felt a sensation on his link unlike anything he'd ever experienced. A moment later he felt a portal being opened less than ten miles away. It was being maintained in part by Stormrage's power, and he thought he detected something of that naga bitch Vashj in the portal's spell matrix, though he couldn't be sure since he'd never truly seen her use magic. There was a certain malicious satisfaction in the thought of the aquatic naga slithering out into this blast furnace and suffering its full unpleasantness.

For a moment Nex stared dolefully at his hedgehog. Then he grudgingly began stuffing everything back into his pack. "Well it's about time, anyway," he muttered.

. . . . .

Almost as soon as she stumbled through the portal she felt a blast like an oven on her face: hot air, harsh sun, and windblown sand and grit. She was going to have to find something to cover her skin, or it would be red as her hair before an hour had passed.

She'd had just a moment to take in the harsh dry heat and the rough, stony red soil beneath her before a hand grabbed her arm and begin ungently tugging her off to the side. "Come on, move!" an impatient blood elf officer shouted as his soldiers chivvied the refugees from Corona's Blaze out of the way. "We've got hundreds more to get through, and the damn lokiv murte'aquels on the other side trying to break through our defenses and kill us all!"

Saire firmly took her arm back from the nervous young soldier guiding her. "I can lead myself, thank you," she said coolly. "And more than that, I can lead my people." She raised her voice. "Hiezal, get everyone from the village pointed in the direction of that hollow over there, out of the way. Keep them moving quickly." With that she took the first group that had passed through the naga portal and led them herself to the spot, going so far as to lend a shoulder to a limping young woman who'd been wounded in the battle with the undead. The woman was tightly clutching a baby in her arms, the poor thing squirming and wailing plaintively in the heat, trying to get its long ears under the cover of the cloth and away from the sun.

By the time she'd gotten her people situated out of the way of the stream of elves and nagas pouring out of the portal and spreading across the barren landscape, Eldre'Theril had arrived with the second group of refugees through the portal. Saire broke away from her efforts to get all their blankets propped up to shade the sickly and wounded and moved over to where he stood, staring out at the desolate landscape. "I don't understand," she said in a low voice. "Prince Kael'thas promised us we were escaping to a paradisiacal refuge."

Her father sighed and turned away from the grim view. "I've learned it's folly to hope for an unclaimed paradise. The world is full of dissatisfied pioneers looking for a place to call their own, and willing to jealously defend it. As for a refuge, you'll not find one of those unless you're willing to create it and defend it with your own hands."

Saire looked doubtfully around the barren red hollow they'd come out in, surrounded by cliffs on two sides, a steep ravine on the third, and a rocky hillside on the fourth. "That's assuming the place is worth defending."

For all Theril's sage advice, he too seemed dismayed by the landscape. "At the least we are no longer in the Alliance dungeons, waiting to be executed at the order of High General Garithos."

She stiffened at that, and once more righteous indignation threatened to overwhelm every thought and emotion and blind her with pure rage.

After successfully disengaging from the undead, the refugees of Corona's Blaze had barely managed to reach the beachhead where the main body of blood elves was gathered. Aside from those already landed and reinforcing the fortifications, more were being ferried across and readying themselves for the main thrust into the heart of the Scourge encampment. They'd no sooner arrived and begun to breathe easier when Saire and every other Corona's Blaze refugee fit to hold a sword had been pressed into service, while those too young, old, injured, or sickly to fight had been shuttled off to the island, where a much larger group of refugees huddled waiting for the last remnant of their people to either succeed or perish.

Few of the Corona's Blaze villagers were fighters, and all were weary, so thankfully they'd only been tasked with manning defensive positions while Price Kael'thas and his army had pressed ever deeper into the Scourge camp, laying it to waste. The battle had not been all one-sided, of course, and all throughout that terrible day she'd watched from her post as brave young soldiers were brought back from the front, far more often dead than wounded. The blood elf people, on the brink of extinction as it was, had lost over a hundred men destroying the Scourge encampment.

It was a smaller number than any had expected, and a great victory by any measure that could be laid solely at the feet of the Blood Prince and his commanders with their brilliance and heroism. Even those mourning loved ones or lost homes had been heartened by the mighty blow struck against the enemy that had taken everything from them.

But the glow of that victory hadn't lasted. They'd still been in the midst of clearing away the last remnants of the undead, and burning the dead from both sides so that they would never rise again, when the Alliance army had come storming along the beach and surrounded their position. She had been close enough to witness personally when Garithos, resplendent in pristine armor untouched by dent or mar from actual combat, had congratulated himself on this mighty victory. When Kael'thas came forward to speak to the High General they had all watched in horror as their beloved Prince was seized on charges of treason for colluding with the naga, and the army which they thought had come to reinforce them turned their weapons on the weary blood elves and demanded them to surrender and come willingly to their executions.

Not all had surrendered. The naga which had assisted them had been slaughtered almost as soon as Kael'thas was in hand, and a contingent of Spellguards under Captain Darkstar had fallen upon Garithos and the men surrounding Kael'thas, trying to cut their leader to safety. The fighting had been brutal and one-sided, and in the end nearly a hundred more blood elves had been slain, many of whom had immediately surrendered.

She had seen many terrible things in her time: the destruction of Dalaran, the sack of Silvermoon, the abandonment of Corona's Blaze, but few of even these dark memories could compare to being taken in chains in the midst of an endless line of her people to the abandoned dungeons of Dalaran, while humans jeered and spit upon them and promised the extinction of their race before the week was out. They'd huddled starving in the dungeons for days, the only water the slimy muck that dripped around them, constantly harassed by their guards.

Saire herself had been offered a chance to be executed last, provided she made it worth the men's while, and she wasn't the only one. In all that dark time, the only thing she could be grateful for was that at least the humans weren't so lost to honor and dignity that they stooped to taking what wasn't offered, although in truth they didn't need to for there were plenty of desperate elves who gave them what they wished with even the faintest hope of living.

Though it shamed her to admit it, she had contemplated accepting their offer more than once, especially as hunger and thirst became unbearable, and they were forced to watch their guards eating and drinking large quantities of ale and rum. She was no prude with her body, and had been mercenary with her charms more than once, but the thought of giving any sort of pleasure to the monsters about to wipe out her entire race galled her too greatly to be considered.

When, against all hope, the naga led by Lady Vashj had broken into the dungeons and freed them, not an elf among them had balked at cutting through their human guards to freedom, nor at turning Dalaran's own remaining magical defenses against the humans as they made their escape through the naga portal.

Even now, if Kael'thas had come to her and asked for volunteers to go fight the humans she would have volunteered even in the face of certain death. Most of those she'd talked to while waiting their turn through the portal had come to have a hatred for the humans that exceeded even their thirst for vengeance against the undead. The undead, at the least, had been an enemy from the beginning, an enemy of all life. But the humans had been their allies and had betrayed them, without cause and without reason.

With all the people of Corona's Blaze through the portal Saire and the other village leaders had begun the work of getting everyone situated and their needs seen to. What limited cloth they had available to them was used for meager shade, and while many looked longingly at the scant cover offered by the cliffs around them, that area had already been occupied by the aquatic naga, who if anything suffered even worse than them in this terrible landscape. The snake-creatures snarled and hissed at any that tried to encroach on their shade, and it had nearly come to blows between a group of them and the Sunplumes, the order of priests and paladins seeking a comfortable place for the numerous sick and wounded.

A large number of naga had come through the portal with them, a number nearly as great as the entire remnant of the blood elf race, and all fighters. Not all of their numbers were naga, however: they'd brought with them murlocs, and sea-lizards, and turtles, and winged serpents, and other watery minions. Many of these had been set to digging into the abrasive but soft red stone of the cliffs, deepening the shelter into shallow caves.

A crunching boots over loose stone and sand turned her around, and she saw her father and Hiezal approaching. While Theril appeared resigned to the discomfort of the heat, Hiezal was openly scowling at everything, the brilliant sun and the reclining naga the most common targets of his annoyance. "Here," he said, throwing her a kerchief. "Tie this over your head, at least. It'd be a shame to see that pretty skin darken." To her amusement the Captain of the Corona's Blaze Guard wore his own headcloth, and so obviously felt the same about his own pretty skin. As she tied it on he spat in the direction of the naga. "Poor bastards. They look like they're having it even worse than us. Not exactly the refuge Kael'thas promised us, is it?"

At his side Theril sighed in weary defeat. "Young people. Snatched away from the gallows and all you can think of to do is complain about a place where our enemies can't follow."

Hiezal took out a stoppered flask and took a gulp, then reluctantly handed it to Saire. "They won't need to follow us. If it's all like this we'll likely be dead before too long anyway." Her father looked annoyed by that argument, but for all his confident words even he couldn't refute it.

Saire took a sip from the flask, then nearly choked on it, spluttering as she pushed the stopper back in place. "Sunstrider's shit, Nova, are you mad? Drinking raw whiskey when we're already suffering from thirst?"

Hiezal took the bottle back, not looking the least bit ashamed as he took another swig. "The naga seemed to know where we were going; they've got enormous water containers being towed by giant turtles coming at the end of the row of evacuees. Assuming we get everyone through before the humans get to us we'll have enough water for our needs. And if not, I don't suppose it'll matter if I die from dehydration a couple hours sooner because I wanted to get drunk."

Before Saire could retort to that a commotion southeast of the portal caught her eye. Elves and naga both were rushing about, far more energetically than this unrelenting heat would forgive. Not far away a blood elf in the armor of the Spell Breakers, with one of those massive two-handed warglaives held easily before him, broke away from another group of refugees and made his way over to them. "Theril Firedge?" he demanded of her father.

Theril flushed. "Eldre'Theril, boy. No tragedy the blood elves could suffer would be worse than for us to lose our proper civility."

The Spell Breaker spat off to one side, a gesture that would have been more impressive if the elf had managed to conjure up any spit from his dry mouth. "Fuck civility, old man. Prince Kael'thas has ordered all combat-worthy elves to gather immediately and prepare for battle. Since you're the _Elder_ of this rabble you can take charge of that. If there's any among your group who actually know how to fight send them without delay to the muster at the southeast edge of the portal site."

Saire stepped forward. "What are we mustering for, ser'lokiv?" she said, putting as much disdain into the pejorative as she could manage.

The elf merely sneered at her. "We're mustering for a battle, slut, not an orgy. You're welcome to wait in my tent, though, for when I-" He cut off with a strangled grunt as Saire slammed her fist into his armored chest and summoned a cyclone of flame. The spell threw him backwards ten feet, though he ducked into a roll and came to his feet almost immediately after landing, warglaive at the ready. If it truly came to a fight Saire would quickly be outmatched, and they both knew it: Spell Breakers could manage complete immunity from spells if they were forewarned and prepared, and that was the most benign of the risks they posed to spellcasters. She could only hope the oaf's need for troops outweighed his injured pride.

It seemed it did. He let the warglaive fall to his side again, a cold smile curling one side of his mouth. "I'm surprised to see a true mage among this rabble. If there are any others worth your weight they may come as well. I'll see you at the mustering grounds." He turned to go, but Saire called him back.

"You haven't answered my question."

"Oh?" he cocked his head, then smiled. "Oh yes, why we're mustering. Word is the reason we came to this hellhole is to meet the naga's master. Unfortunately he's been captured, so we'll have to rescue his pathetic hide." He smirked. "If they wanted a master they could proudly follow, they should have picked an elf."


	4. Last Stand of the Watchers

Sorry for the Saturday post, even if it's only 40 minutes past Friday .. After a busy week got back home at around 9:30 with 9 pages to write, so I did the best I could.

Chapter Three

Last Stand of the Watchers

It seemed Maiev had been wrong. Oh, certainly this was no demon portal, judging by the blood elves and snake-creatures streaming through it in ragged, poorly organized lines. And if she said it had been opened by Illidan's servant he was inclined to believe her.

Her error had been in the assumption that the Betrayer would have no troops at his beck.

In the gulch below the last of a line of dozens of giant sea turtles towing water tanks emerged, followed a few last snake-creatures, massively muscled males and slender, dangerously sinuous females escorting an elaborately ornamented and delicately proportioned female in their midst. As soon as she was through the portal it winked out, leaving a force below that dwarfed the night elf army by an order of magnitude.

"Light have mercy," Puros breathed, staring down at the milling mass of blood elves and snake-creatures sprawled across the area around the closed portal, "Illidan's caught us with our pants down."

Maiev turned from her intent inspection of the scene below to give him a cool glance. "What exactly is that crass phrase supposed to entail, human?"

For once Puros ignored propriety, shaken by the sight below him. "We have a few dozen troops, all more than an hour away, to his few hundred mere minutes, half an hour at most, away from the wagon. If we were all squatting to shit with our pants around our ankles and they'd fallen upon us out of the blue we couldn't be caught in a worse situation."

The Warden sniffed with distaste. "I see a rabble of refugees and fish-beings parching in the heat. They'll know our situation if they think to come at us."

"They already are," Puros said, pointing. A group of blood elves were gathering in swift but orderly formation, commanders already chivvying them into motion. Alongside them half a dozen sinuous snake-creatures riding winged serpents were whipping a cluster of odd humanoid fish into ragged lines. "Those look like more than just ragged peasants, and they'll be moving out soon. And if Illidan can truly communicate with his minions through his link he can tell them exactly how easy it will be for them to come break him free. For all we know they could have sent outriders to retrieve him already."

Maiev stared down at the scene below for a moment more, then turned away in a whirl of her jagged cloak of knives. "Make haste to the wagon, then," she snapped, and disappeared into a Blink, reappearing twenty yards away already in a sprint towards the Betrayer's slowly moving wagon.

Puros cursed and broke into a trot following her. He wasn't one to back down from a tough fight, but nothing about this day was instilling him with any confidence. Illidan's mocking cut all the deeper for the mess Maiev had gotten them all in. With any luck the Warden would simply swallow her pride and kill the Betrayer while she still had the chance. Assuming, of course, that chance was still available. As he came in sight of the halted wagon he had his doubts about that.

Fadingstar and her dozen huntresses were already embattled. The night elves had obviously abandoned their patrol routes and were fighting to reach the wagons where Fienna, Emaille, and half a dozen of their sisters were battling desperately to ward off easily a score of blood elves mounted on hawkstriders. The massive, flightless birds with their colored plumes looked awkward and ungainly, yet in motion they were sleek and swift, darting and dodging with uncanny speed, sometimes appearing to defy momentum and gravity in their graceful rush. Their riders were equally swift, bearing light dueling sabers or poniards with which they would close and wield in a lightning strike before disengaging, another of their number coming in from a different direction to slash at the beleaguered group.

The night elves were no novices to battle, but their greatest weapon, the longbows for which they were renowned, seemed useless against the chaotic, darting speed of the hawkstriders; half their arrows went wide without the blood elf riders even needing to consciously dodge. It didn't help that they were split into groups of three from their patrols, and many were pinned down as hawkstriders circled and darted at them. At the wagon Fienna had drawn her people into a wedge with the wagon at their backs, and were using their bows to jab at the heads of the attacking hawkstriders, forcing the creatures to keep at a distance where their riders couldn't strike with their short weapons. Fienna herself wielded two kukris: short, heavy knives with oddly curved blades, more for chopping than for stabbing. She'd already cut a leg out from under a hawkstrider and the creature was down, filling the air with deafening screeches, while its rider circled around the experienced Watcher, longer saber flashing around the knives but thus far finding no openings.

It was not only cavaliers the advance force of Illidan's rescuers had brought with them, however. As Puros rushed down the slope he saw a patrol of three night elves, for the moment unregarded and using this opening to loose arrows at the backs of riders assaulting their embattled sisters, suddenly fly in all directions, limbs flailing. A creature like a monstrous salamander or crocolisk with long, muscular legs had rushed out of a crack in the ground and bowled into them. It was now savaging one of the night elves while her sisters loosed arrows at its darting head, desperately trying to bring it down before the screaming huntress was ripped apart.

Puros was about to rush to their aid when a greater threat, not to him but to Fienna and those below, presented itself. Three hawkstriders had drawn up on a low rise not far away, but it was not cavaliers that rode upon them but spellcasters. He could see them in the midst of casting, their attention intent on the battle below. One went down suddenly with a shriek, a flaming arrow through her hawkstrider's head, and he turned to see that Fadingstar, standing over the corpses of two cavaliers and their hawkstriders, had also noticed the danger the three presented.

Puros rushed them as well, close enough to engage them quickly, and coming from the side out of their line of sight. Yet Fadingstar's arrow, worthy shot as it had been from three hundred yards away, had also broken the concentration of all three of the mages, who were now looking around nervously for further attacks.

A male in a richly embroidered robe caught sight of Puros when he was less than a dozen yards away, and he responded immediately by breaking into resolute spellcasting. Arcane energy filled the air around Puros, and he staggered, his legs distorted and holding his weight awkwardly. At the same time hammer and shield both clattered to the ground. Puros looked down with horror to see that his hands were fusing into hooves, his thick wrists becoming bony and slender. The Light-cursed bastard was polymorphing him into a sheep!

Desperately he called upon his own holy power, lashing out at the mage's mind with overwhelming feelings of shame, remorse, and regret. For a moment their spells vied with one another, the effects of each racing to incapacitate their target before their caster became incapacitated. Puros felt the changes continuing in his body, wool sprouting along his skin, his back arching and his hips cracking into an odd configuration. But from experience he knew that it did not take long for the unrepentant to be overwhelmed by the magnitude of their sins. Far longer than to create a complex spell to completely change the nature of a victim.

So it proved with the blood elf mage, whose spellcasting faltered to silence. The man's arrogant features were slack with horror and self-loathing as he gazed, transfixed, into a hell of his own making.

It was no difficult thing to call upon the cleansing powers of the Light to reverse the effects of the polymorph spell, and in moments he was picking up his hammer and shield once more and rushing towards the mage, who still stood motionless and helpless. Any hesitation he might have had in striking the defenseless target was washed away by the din of battle behind him. As he closed within striking distance he drew Purity's Burden back for a killing blow. The mage's hawkstrider shifted restlessly and shrieked at him, but its rider still held its reins tight, and it was too well-trained to make any move as Puros struck.

But at the last second the mage seemed to come to himself, and even as his hammer continued its swing through the space the blood elf occupied, his enemy was no longer there. His hammer continued on to strike the hawkstrider in the neck, breaking it cleanly and nearly taking the poor beast's head from its shoulders.

Blink. Puros had fought alongside mages enough to know the move. Without missing a beat he whirled and flung his hammer with all his might in the direction the blood elf had been facing. Twenty yards away the mage, coming out of his Blink spell and turning with words on his lips and already in the middle of spellcasting, saw the hammer with just enough warning for his eyes to widen in shock. Then the oddly organic purple head of the weapon took him in the chest, the blood elf folding around the hammer like a spider convulsing in death, broken and dying even as he hit the ground.

Puros whirled, reaching through the affinity link which by the grace of the Light he had forged with Purity's Burden. As he did he stretched out his hand, and felt the solid weight of the holy weapon appearing within his grip as he faced the remaining mages.

Or what remained of them. One lay dead with two arrows through her chest, alongside that first hawkstrider Fadingstar had killed. The other mage had disappeared, and the second hawkstrider was running wild, riderless and fear-crazed. Puros turned towards Fadingstar, who'd been charged simultaneously by two more cavaliers. She was backing away nimbly, using her bow to push away the darting beak and flashing sword of one of the riders. When the second charged in at her exposed right flank she pivoted smoothly, coming up on that cavalier's left side so he'd be forced to swing across his mount to hit her, and before the surprised elf could respond she stabbed the flaming arrow she had no room to fit to her bow directly into the hawkstrider's eye. The creature went down with a shriek, its rider tumbling, and without slowing Fadingstar leapt backwards into the air, bringing her bow to bear and drawing and loosing on the off-balance and mountless cavalier before either of them hit the ground.

But her brilliant fighting had won her no more than a reprieve: the remaining cavalier was being joined by two blood elves on foot, rushing into the fray from the southeast, and above them a winged serpent was hovering hissing and waiting for the night elf Telratha to engage the blood elves and provide it an opening. Puros rushed towards her, hammer and shield ready, already calling upon the Light to grant him strength.

Even in the midst of her fighting Fadingstar seemed aware of him. Without missing a beat she disengaged for a moment to face him, pointing towards the south, away from the battle. "Al'thelir endu irifa Emaille!" she commanded curtly. Then she was drawn back into the battle as the two blood elves afoot closed within range of her.

Puros looked south, and his heart lurched in his chest.

There was Emaille, obviously, and Fadingstar's words had just as obviously been a command to help her. Unlike her ancient kinswoman the young night elf was struggling, and against only one opponent. She'd lost her bow somewhere, and was using her odd heavy-bladed kukri knife to poorly fend off the attacks of the cavalier circling around her, sending his hawkstrider in with darting attacks too swift for her to anticipate and properly react to. She was openly backing away, desperately dodging the flashing sword of the cavalier, as well as the darting beak and kicking feet of his hawkstrider mount. Many of her attempts to dodge ended in a stumble, and it was obvious the dazed young female was surviving as much on luck as on skill.

Puros lurched into a run towards the pair, yelling out a mocking challenge to the cavalier. The blood elf, maneuvering his hawkstrider around for another pass at Emaille, paused and glanced back. Emaille used the opportunity to turn and sprint towards a crack in the ground that opened into a strange, jagged sort of ravine. The blood elf turned and, seeing her in flight, gave a loud curse Puros knew barely enough of Thalassian to translate and be offended by, then nudged his agile mount in pursuit.

Puros sprinted after them, slowed by the heat and the weight of his armor but refusing to let himself be too late to save the young woman. Emaille may have been dazed and confused, but her nimbleness had let her turn the cavalier's moment of distraction into a considerable head start, and she was running flat out with the grace of a deer in the woods, leaping over boulders and seeming to fly over the ground rather than running along it. The cavalier was in close pursuit, but he was slowed by being forced to go around obstacles the slender night elf could leap over. That wouldn't stop him for long.

From his vantage point Puros could see that the crack in the ground Emaille had run into turned a short ways down it, and the ravine actually ran fairly close to where he was. He checked his course, turning away from the mouth of the ravine and towards the point he judged Emaille would reach at the same time he would. He could only hope that the ravine wasn't too deep, that the cavalier wasn't too swift, and that he didn't die of heat stroke before he reached the point.

It was a lot to hope for, but the Light was with him.

When he reached the edge of the ravine he could see that it ended in a dead end almost directly below him. Eight feet below Emaille was pressed against that dead end, kukri held in shaking hands in front of her, while the cavalier slowly approached. The blood elf was no fool, and rather than simply rushing in and creating an opening in which the night elf could possibly slip past him he was guiding his beast forward at a slow, measured pace. Emaille, though as still as a hare cringing before a fox, was looking around desperately with wide eyes. Those eyes locked with Puros's for a moment, and in that moment the cavalier darted forward, saber held high.

Puros leapt off the low ledge, hammer raised for a devastating swing. The cavalier's hawkstrider saw him and gave a screech, trying to veer off to avoid him. But the cavalier, either ignoring his mount's warning or so focused on his target that he didn't care, savagely sawed the reins, forcing the flightless bird to keep its direction as he swung his sword down. Emaille could only stare at him with wide eyes as his weapon descended.

Purity's Burden landed first, smashing the blood elf's head down into his shoulders with such force that the hawkstrider beneath him buckled with a shriek, at least one leg broken. Hawkstrider, cavalier, and Puros all came down in a tangle, and for a few frantic moments he was occupied fending off the desperate bird's darting beak until he could get his fist around its neck and break it cleanly.

Emaille started at him in shock. "Come on!" he shouted, grabbing her upper arm and dragging her back up the small crack. When they reached the entrance to it he looked around frantically, then began tugging her to the southeast, the direction reinforcements _should_ be coming from. Emaille lurched along, barely seeming to notice his grip on her arm. Her eyes were wide with shock and confusion, and they stumbled on for a few paces before she finally came to herself enough to tug her arm out of his grip and trot alongside him. Veteran of a dozen battles, she'd claimed. And perhaps it was true: attacked without warning, overwhelmed, in a place they thought themselves alone. And the savagery with which the enemy had struck. Even a veteran of a hundred campaigns would be dazed by it.

He counted it a good sign that she at least seemed to recover from her daze quickly. She lurched to a halt, staring back behind her. "What is this?" she demanded. For a moment he thought she was experiencing trauma amnesia, but then she continued. "You and Lady Shadowsong disappear, and less than ten minutes later we're being overrun."

Puros caught at her arm again. "Ask your questions while we run, girl. We have to meet up with the reinforcements from Holhallow's Gap before they catch up to us."

At his insistent tugging she reluctantly began trotting alongside him once more. "Still, what is this?"

He could only shrug. He wasn't sure he knew himself. "The blood elves are attacking."

The young night elf hissed in annoyance. "I damn well _know_ the blood elves are attacking, human! I've just nearly had my head taken off by one of the bloody damn elves! _Why_ are they attacking us? They were our allies not two weeks ago."

"They seem to have new allies," Puros replied grimly.

"What allies?" she demanded. "Why does anyone want to attack us? We've made no enemies in this land, and we left no enemies on Azeroth."

"We have one enemy." He used his hammer to point back at the wagon they were abandoning, swarming with blood elves and snake-creatures and with only a few embattled pockets of night elves remaining. Purity's Burden was covered in blood and worse, he noticed distantly, a bit ashamed at flaunting it in front of Emaille like that. But then, most of that gore belonged to the man that had been trying to kill her, so perhaps she could forgive it.

She didn't seem to notice, staring back at the wagon with her eyes still wide and dazed. "Him? Lady Shadowsong said he had no minions to call upon."

"I would say she was wrong," he replied dryly. More than wrong, considering the army emerging from that portal.

Come to that, where _was_ Maiev? She'd Blinked away ahead of him, and yet he'd seen no sign of her in the frantic minutes spent locating the wagon and engaging with the blood elves there.

That question was answered not long after, as they crested a rise and saw a force of a dozen of those humanoid fish that had circled the battle at the wagon to come around behind the night elves. A clump of half a dozen corpses attested to her first attack, all blown away from a spot at their center where she'd probably Blinked in. They all had at least one knife sticking out of them, and looked as if they'd been mown down in instants. Puros was reminded uncomfortably of Maiev's jagged cloak with all its knives. Was it possible she'd been able to Blink in and spin so swiftly that she sent those knives fanning out in all directions?

Most of the other fish-creatures had tried to flee, and been hunted and cut down one by one before they could get far. Even as they crested the rise the last creature, which was headed their way, went down with a knife in its back, coated with poison that did nothing to the already dead creature.

Maiev Blinked in a moment later. "Why are you here?" she demanded. "You're supposed to be guarding the wagon!"

"The wagon is lost!" Puros replied. "If we went back now we'd simply die. Where are the reinforcements?"

The Warden's eyes were wild with rage. "The owl messenger is long gone, they'll be here at any time. We have to get back to the wagon and hold them off until my sisters can arrive!" Puros opened his mouth to protest once more, and Maiev moved so swiftly that for a moment he thought she'd Blinked again. As the chakram tickled his throat the frenzied night elf stared into his eyes from less than three inches away. "We. Are. Going. Back," she said through gritted teeth.

Mouth going dry, Puros pushed his gauntleted fist through the inside circle of her weapon and shoved it to one side. "They can't open the wagon immediately, can they?" he asked, trying for a calm voice. "I saw your priestesses at work sealing it, and it took them several minutes. If we go in now we die, even you. If we wait, we can attack them with a force of our own, perhaps get to Illidan before the bulk of their forces arrive. We might have enough time to slay him and escape before we're pinned down and slaughtered."

The Warden snarled and shoved him aside as easily as he would push aside a child. "Go where you want, human. Flee for all I care. You too, child, since you can't see fit to follow orders. If I have to kill them all myself I'll keep these blood elf and naga cowards from freeing the Betrayer!"

Without another word she disappeared.

. . . . .

The field below looked like a victory for their side. Over a dozen night elf corpses were scattered around the abandoned wagon, while the remaining night elves had been driven into faltering pockets of resistance. Saire saw one archer up on a rock go down when a winged serpent swooped down from above and bit her neck from behind, driving her to the ground below and already beginning to feast.

Only one true resistance remained on the night elf side, and that was an impressively armored warrior wearing a cloak hung with daggers and bearing a circular weapon. She was teleporting from one part of the battlefield to the next, picking off blood elf cavaliers and naga creatures and taking a heavy toll on their troops.

"Odd," Kael'thas mused, staring down at the scene below. "The field is ours; why doesn't the night elf commander take Master Stormrage from that broken wagon and flee?"

"She cannot," Vashj replied, already motioning for her myrmidons to move out. "Our master is a power beyond even his onetime Warden. Maiev Shadowsong may have caught him by surprise and captured him, but the moment he leaves the containment of that magical cage the battle is truly lost for her."

"Your master," the Blood Prince corrected, politely but firmly. "The blood elves do not serve him, though we are not ungrateful."

"We will see what the future holds," the naga said with a baring of fangs that might have been a smile, her tone suggesting that their service to Stormrage was a foregone conclusion. Saire had to admit that there didn't seem to be many options for them: stranded on this barren rock, the Alliance calling for their deaths back on Azeroth, who could they turn to but their new ally? Vashj gave a soft hiss and continued. "But there is time enough for such considerations after our master is freed. My forces in the air inform me of a large body of night elves approaching from the southeast. Though we might hold the wagon now, if they arrive their numbers nearly match ours, at least until the remainder of our forces at the portal site can finally mobilize."

Her prince's voice was grim as he replied. "If our forces are even we should wait for reinforcements. I'll not speak ill of my cavaliers, but they're some of my finest troops and those night elves have managed to match our losses to theirs even with being caught by surprise."

Vashj hissed impatiently, a disconcertingly inhuman sound. "We have no time to tiptoe around this fight. My master tells me there is a demon lord of great power not so very far away, and his scouts are already well aware of what goes on here." She pointed one arm, which would have been flawlessly beautiful but for the fine scales that sheathed it, into the air. Saire looked up with all the rest of them, and saw a dozen or more black specks circling high above. "We must concern ourselves with the battle to come: we have no time to waste for one that should already be over. I must ask you to send your forces around to the southeast and block their reinforcements."

Kael'thas was obviously not happy about it, but he finally nodded reluctantly. "Of course, my Lady." He nodded to his commander, Captain Dervain, who immediately began chivvying the group into a swift march around the battlefield. Saire followed the group as they streamed past Kael'thas and Lady Vashj. Kael'thas continuing to speak as they departed. "We may wish the battle to be over, but even if my people hold back the reinforcements one obstacle remains. This Maiev seems a formidable enemy. It might be prudent for us to engage her ourselves, in a concerted effort."

The naga hesitated, then inclined her head slightly in agreement. "Perhaps you are right. It would be best to greet Lord Stormrage personally in any case. Come, mortal, let us go down and pay our respects."

As the blood elves marched in a line along the ridge, towards where Saire could see a large force of night elves hurrying to their mistress's aid, the Lady of the Naga and the Blood Prince moved down together towards the battlefield. Saire almost felt pity for the night elf commander, still Blinking desperately from place to place trying to do the most damage to her attackers, even as retreat and reinforcements were cut off and two of the mightiest spellcasters on Azeroth approached to silence her efforts for good.

. . . . .

Puros didn't know why the fifty-odd reinforcements had stopped their headlong rush to their mistress's aid, and Emaille didn't seem inclined to tell him. The young female was rigidly in rank with her sisters; she'd managed to get another bow from somewhere, though the night elf army seemed to have brought little equipment and even fewer provisions.

His unspoken question was answered when the Telratha commander pointed up at a ridge less than two hundred yards to their left, where blood elves by the dozen were pouring over the top towards them. If they'd continued on heedlessly that force, nearly equal to their own, would have smashed into their lines and split their forces neatly in two. "Vala'enluthie melais dinovindle!" she called. Immediately thirty bows bent as one and loosed shafts at the approaching forces. Some fell short, some went long, many were blocked by magical wards and shields, but a dozen or more of the charging blood elves stumbled, though only a handful went down.

Before Puros could even raise his hammer to bind it with a seal another shout whipped his head around, and he saw a dozen massive snake-creatures with tridents and spears gliding sinuously up out of a ditch towards them. Naga, had Maiev called them? An ugly word for ugly creatures. Above them three winged serpents flapped for a dramatic moment, then swooped down towards the night elf ranks.

"Thalai!" the Telratha screamed, and two went down with half a dozen arrows each piercing their scaly hides. The other swooped away with a frightened hiss, the naga looped on its back like a small snake around a larger one hissing and slapping at it with her small hands. Before he could begin to feel relieved about not having to worry about death from above a shrill shriek drew his gaze back to the left, in time to see half a dozen dragonhawks swooping down on them. Shafts were loosed at these, but whether they came more prepared or were naturally more graceful the brilliantly plumed birds dodged the arrows, all of them. The blood elves riding upon the dragonhawks' backs bore long lances with brilliant red and gold pennants streaming behind, which they lowered at the last second like jousters. The night elves were nimble as well, and dodged the swift but ungainly attacks, save one who was too intent on the naga to notice the peril until she was transfixed by a six inch point protruding from beneath her breast. Then the force of the dragonhawk's speed snapped her up into the air with a shriek. The blood elf rider coolly dipped his lance, allowing his mortally wounded victim to slide to the ground. Two other dragonhawks struck as they swooped past, slicing deep wounds in night elf flesh with their wicked claws. Then they were away, more shafts flying harmlessly by as the nimble creatures dodged this way and that.

Forced to make a decision between blood elves and naga, Puros decided to engage the naga. Whatever side they were on, whoever they served, he had to agree with Emaille on one point: less than a week ago he'd been fighting beside the blood elves, and haughty as they'd been at that time he still wasn't yet ready to cross weapons with them.

Not that the naga wouldn't prove challenge enough. Huntresses atop their nightsabers were bounding past him to engage the hulking creatures, their odd three-pointed glaives flashing. But slow as the snaky things looked they were obviously no strangers to war, and the length of their tridents and spears proved telling even against the nimble night elves. Nightsabers growled as they were constantly forced to leap away from blows of such power than any one landing could easily have killed them or their riders. One rider did go down with a shriek, when the naga changed his attack mid-stab into a devastating swing. The thick haft of the weapon struck her head, knocking her from her saddle in a spray of blood.

Puros checked his charge and rushed to her side, already beseeching the Light for healing spells. His talents were geared more towards retribution than preservation, but it was a poor paladin indeed who couldn't offer succor to an ally. Her skull looked crushed where the weapon had struck her, but she breathed still, and with his efforts the ashen hue of her purple skin was darkening to a more natural color.

A hiss was all the warning he had, and he looked up just in time to see the naga who'd brought this huntress down now swinging its trident at him. Desperately he pushed to one knee and threw his shield up over himself and the huntress, bracing. The impact hit harder than he could ever have imagined, so hard that for an eternal instant he went completely numb and his mind refused to function. Then he felt himself tumbling over the ground with his hammer getting tangled up in his legs and his shield slamming into his helmeted forehead. His shield arm burned with an ache so piercing it made him dizzy, and any attempt to move it to prevent the bulky shield from hitting him as he rolled caused agony to shoot up to his shoulder. It was broken, he was certain, and even the Light couldn't heal such wounds swiftly.

At last he managed to get in control, shoving up to his feet. The naga was already on him once more, incredibly fast for all massive size. Puros ducked another devastating blow from that trident and fed divine energy into Purity's Burden, bringing it around in a swift 180-degree turn and slamming his hammer into the creature's side. It gave a hiss, frills rattling in a surprisingly intimidating fashion, but its torso was so thickly muscled that the blow did no more than slow it. It spun, lower body coiling oddly on the ground as it maneuvered, and the trident came whistling towards him once more.

Puros ducked again, suffering only a glancing blow to his shield arm. It was still enough to make him feel dizzy with pain, but then the Light flooded over him, suffusing him with its radiance. Brimming with righteous wrath he spun into another swift 180-degree turn, slamming Purity's Burden into the naga's back. Again the thickly knotted muscles withstood the brunt of the blow, but this time Purity's Burden was suffused with the Light, and the Light's judgment was upon the wretched creature. The creature gave another hiss and its tail came whipping up at him with all the force of a club. Puros leapt over the thrashing thing and struck again, feeling the force of his blow and the holiness of his cause washing soothing energy up his arm, dulling the pain and beginning the healing. He dodged the tail again and ducked under the trident, slamming Purity's Burden into the naga's left arm, and this time there was an audible crack as he struck the thing's elbow, shattering it. Now they were even, arm for arm, but his was healing quickly. He struck again, again the brunt of the attack absorbed by sheer bulk and muscle, but that didn't deter him in the slightest as he struck again. And again. The naga's flailing tail struck him in the back, knocking him forward into the thing's trident, but he shouldered the thick haft aside and slammed his hammer directly into the naga's face with a resounding _crack_. The satisfying sensation of things breaking shivered up his arm from the force of the blow.

With a gurgling cry the naga went down, seriously wounded but not dead. Puros raised his hammer, bringing all his wrath to bear as he prepared the final devastating blow that would end this creature's life.

Then a scream nearly in his ear whipped his head around.

. . . . .

Though none of them had expected it when they'd come charging down the hill, they'd caught their enemies between hammer and anvil when the naga emerged from the ravine on the other side to drive into the night elves.

Which wasn't to say the night elves weren't giving as good as they got. Closely knit ranks were a poor tactic for archers when their enemy had closed on them, but the night elves were no fools. As soon as they loosed their first several volleys and the blood elves and naga fell upon them, they immediately broke in a nova pattern, retreating in all directions a short distance and immediately turning to shoot at available targets. If their aim was blocked by allies, or enemies were closing on them, they fled again, trusting to their sisters to take down their pursuers, before again wheeling to loose arrows. It was a highly mobile, fast way of fighting that left melee troops confused.

Saire, still up on the ridge with a dozen or so archers and an equal number of spellcasters, was distanced enough from the tactic to not be confused by it. But then again, since she wasn't in any danger from it understanding how to counter it did her little good, and the fighting was far too chaotic for her to try to find Captain Dervain and offer him pointers.

So instead she decided to burn the hell out of the enemy.

She was a good distance away, and the enemies were nimble, so she wasn't having the greatest success with her fireballs. Although it was satisfying to see a night elf explode into flames after her sister dodged and failed to warn her of the oncoming attack.

Still, she felt it was time for something a little more dramatic. On the other side of the lines the naga had pushed through the night elves mounted on their big cats and were slithering into the ranks of archers, trying to score a hit. It was almost amusing, in a way, to see those massive creatures flailing around at the nimble little shapes around them, like watching a child swat clumsily at a fly.

Her attention, however, was focused on the dozen or so mounted night elves. After the naga had pushed through their perimeter they'd begun regrouping to make another charge at the fishy creatures, which put six or more close enough together for them to regret clumping. Saire pulled the heat of this horrible world into a spell matrix, gathering it over the night elves and in the ground beneath them, preparing for the strike that would hit them from above and below at once and incinerate everything in ten yards.

Even as she loosed the spell every single of those big cats gave a warning yowl and leapt away with impossible nimbleness. It didn't seem possible, since from beginning to finish the spell took less than three seconds to reach full effect, but from just the telltale heat she'd gathered in the ground the cats had sensed the danger and evaded it. Only one had been hit, the one in the exact center, and though the cat went up in a satisfying furball of fire its rider rolled off, expertly shucking off a flaming cloak and trousers and fleeing the scene of the conflagration wearing practically nothing.

Nothing but her glaive, that is, which she immediately turned on a blood elf swordsman assailing her. The idiot man, perhaps distracted by the abundance of sightly flesh, left an opening that allowed her to slit him from ear to ear and leave him bleeding out onto the scalding rocks of this world.

"Maybe next time you make such a grand display of your power, you could try to actually hit something," a disdainful voice said behind her. One of the other spellcasters, also a mage of the Kirin Tor. Or perhaps _former mage_ was a better term, since the Kirin Tor had likely cut all blood elves from its enclave. Still he'd been one of those fighting alongside Kael'thas for a long while, and his arrogance was understandable.

But not forgivable. "The middle of a battle is hardly the time to be offering critiques," she replied, turning and sending a wall of flame at the backs of a group of archers who'd managed to break away and were now loosing arrows at her people on the left flank. The night elves fell flat, huddled into balls under their cloaks, letting the worst of the flames pass by them. As soon as the wall of flame was past they threw off the cloaks and began rolling desperately to put out the blazes on their other clothing. Only one remained motionless, burning until her skin was blackened.

"Criticism of major errors is warranted, even on a battlefield. If you're going to waste all your mana on useless displays like that you'll be out of the fight in moments. How many such spells do you have in you, with your reserves? Three, four?"

Saire scowled. Admittedly, those spells were costly, but if they'd achieved their intended goals they would have been well worth it. And she had closer to ten, anyway. She was about to retort when something at the top of the tall cliff to the south of her, a short distance away from the chaotic battlefield, caught her eye. Upon it a dark figure stood looking down at the scene. Saire had no way to identify the person, nor determine whether he was a friend or an enemy, and yet there was something oddly familiar about him. She allowed the argument on the tip of her tongue to be forgotten as she looked closer. A shocking idea occurred to her, but it was so absurd she had to dismiss it.

Something about the still, calculating way the figure watched the battle put her in mind of the human that had covered the retreat of the villagers of Corona's Blaze from the Scourge, what seemed a lifetime ago but had really been only a few days. His cloak was the same shade, and appeared as ragged, but the notion that the human that had aided them against the undead would have found his way here, to Outland, was preposterous. She had watched the endless procession of Azerothian refugees ferried through the portal, not just naga and blood elves but other creatures in the service of Illidan Stormrage as well. She'd even seen a pandaren, although few even believed that such creatures existed outside of legend.

But she had seen no human, and flat-out refused to believe one had slipped through unnoticed. With the fervor of hatred for humans that had her people in the very battle frenzy that was carrying them into this conflict with the night elves, she was certain that any human found trying to get through the portal wouldn't have been so much killed as simply torn to pieces by an enraged mob. Not even service to Illidan would save such a one, so soon after their imprisonment under the tender mercies of Garithos's guards.

Yet the creature simply watched, making no move to join the battle for or against her allies. And not long afterwards a night elf arrow ricocheted off her mana shield, further reducing her mana reserves and forcing her to tear her gaze back to the conflict.

Yet as she fought she kept glancing up at that solitary figure, wary in case he should suddenly decide to act.

. . . . .

The demons knew of this battle. They had to, what with the dozens of specks circling overhead, terrorfiend and succubus scouts watching the conflict unfold. The only question was whether the demons' master would decide to involve himself in the fighting or wait until the battle was decided before falling upon the victor.

Nex found himself faced with a similar choice, as he stood atop the tall cliff overlooking the area. On the one hand Stormrage would not be pleased with his part in all of this, and it was foolish to hope the corrupted night elf didn't know just how Shadowsong had come to be on Outland. And considering the numbers the blood elves and naga had brought with them, her army was overmatched in every way, defeat all but certain.

On the other hand, it was possible the night elf might somehow win the day, however unlikely that was. He might even get lucky, and Shadowsong would kill Stormrage rather than see him rescued, even if it meant her own death. That would be best for him, certainly, although it was probably nothing worth hoping for.

Either way, no matter how the battle went it was likely to prove bad for him. Going down and joining the fight in favor of one side or the other wouldn't help him in any way. Better to sit back and enjoy the scene playing out.

Besides, Nex had his own interest in the battle, and that interest was currently fighting a massive naga myrmidon to one side of the battlefield. Whether Lightfinder died to Stormrage's minions or fled the field, or by some miracle prevailed, Nex had his own business with the paladin.

A flicker in the relentless sun blazing at his back became a darkening, and on the ground his shadow appeared to be growing larger. Hawks often attacked pray using the sun as cover, so the poor animal's only warning was a swiftly growing shadow passing overhead. Nex ignored that shadow and continued to watch the battle below, even as he heard the whistling rush of wings swift growing nearer overhead.

At the last possible second he dove to his left, tucking into a roll. The ground shook beneath him from the force of his attacker's impact as he planted one foot to halt his roll and with his arms as balance pushed off to launch himself back towards where he'd been standing. The terrorfiend, stunned by slamming into the ground rather than crushing through its soft prey as it had expected, barely moved as Nex jumped on its back and slammed his Blinkstrike down into its skull, driving the dagger an inch or so directly into its brain.

That apparently wasn't enough to kill the disoriented demon, for the fiend gave a roar and rolled beneath him, one massive limb lashing out at him. Nex, off balance, couldn't dodge as the creature's clawed hand struck him in the shoulder and sent him flying, as easily as he could swat a fly out of the air. He soared over the cliff's edge and began falling, while back on the ledge he saw the terrorfiend rising, wings spread in preparation to take off in pursuit of him.

Then Nex concentrated and Blinked beneath the massive creature, his momentum driving the point of his Blinkstrike into the demon's throat with all the force of his fall behind it. It went in to the hilt this time, and Nex grabbed the startled and off-balance demon's shoulder with his free hand and heaved sideways on the dagger, ripping the razor edge through the thick flesh of its neck in a spray of black blood.

The terrorfiend bellowed and curled its wings protectively around it, trapping Nex in, even as its massive arms again raised to grab at him. Nex was reminded uncomfortably of his fight with Rachondimus the Nathrezim, when he'd been in a similar position and only Lightfinder's divine shield had let him get through it relatively uninjured.

He somewhat doubted Lightfinder was going to bestow such a shield upon him this time, but he hardly needed it. Fearsome as this terrorfiend was, it was hardly on a level with a demon lord.

Nex pushed off the demon's shoulder once more, directly downwards this time between the grasping arms, and wrapped his own arms around the creature's chest and his legs around the creature's waist; the bloodthirsty demon would have been better served trying to get away itself, rather than trying to prevent him from doing so. Drawing on his power he immolated his flesh with vicious dark flames. The terrorfiend, arms and wings both conveniently curled tightly around him, gave a shriek as most of its body burst into flame.

Nex dropped to the ground and darted around behind the demon, leaping up and wrapping his immolated arms around the terrorfiend's throat. Black blood gushing everywhere made the demon slippery, but the heat of his flames soon dried the blood away, then burned it to ash. Beneath it the skin burned through to the muscle, and still deeper until the terrorfiend's spine and skull were revealed. The creature gave a last cry, half laughter and half agony, and went down beneath him.

Nex extinguished the costly immolation spell and stood atop the terrorfiend's bloody, blackened corpse. Then he spat down at the ruin of its head. Hawks might attack their prey from above, catching them by surprise, but badgers often lured the predatory birds to do just that so they could bear them to the ground and tear them apart. Then the predator became the prey, and in its dying moments could do little more than wonder in stunned surprise what had just happened.

He hopped off the demon's corpse and walked over to the edge of the cliff, resuming his inspection of the battlefield. What he saw made his smile vanish.

Lightfinder was no longer in sight.

. . . . .

Puros whirled at the scream to see one of the massive naga poised over him, brandishing a massive spear. The creature likely would have slain him, or at least struck him hard, while he was occupied with the other naga, save that Emaille had leapt forward to intercept it. Whatever dazed confusion the poor young night elf had felt at the battle's beginning had apparently abandoned her just in time for her to throw herself in front of a spear the size of a small tree.

Her back was to him, kukri knife falling from limp fingers to the ground below as the naga spearman picked her up on the end of his weapon. Puros watched in sickened horror as the massive creature held her transfixed in the air for a moment while her thrashing ceased, then callously shook the stricken young woman off his spear. Emaille dropped bonelessly to the ground. It looked as if she was already dead, but Puros was still turning back to see if he could possibly heal her when the massive snake-man slithered up over her, trampling her broken body into the red ground with a series of nauseating cracking noises. Emaille's blood soaked into the ground, barely darkening it, and Puros felt bile rise in his throat that he had to forcibly choke down.

The naga's attention was on him, and Puros turned his back on the severely wounded creature he'd been fighting and strode forward. Red haze was creeping around the edges of his vision, and within him the Light was a burning song, screaming out for the vindication of an innocent soul who'd started out following a respected leader in the hopes that she would meet a lover lost and presumed dead. A sweet young girl who had followed a madwoman to this hell of a world and paid the ultimate price.

"By the Light, I will kill you," he said, voice shaking with rage. Purity's Burden sang the Light's song, and as one they stepped directly in front of the naga. The massive creature drew back its arm and stabbed with its spear, a thrust that could have pierced a dragon's hide. Puros swung his hammer, not to parry the blow but to meet it head on: the head of Purity's Burden hit the point of the spear and shattered it, then continued down the thick shaft, splintering it and breaking it until his hammer struck the creature's hand and broke its fingers with a swift succession of popping noises. The naga snarled in shock and pain and began backing away sinuously, the motion carrying it back over Emaille's broken body with more sickening crunches. Puros's vision went red, and he lost all control of his thoughts.

What seemed hours later he came to himself enough to realize he was slamming his hammer into dead flesh, swinging over and over at muscle of the naga's chest. It had torn away, then bone that had shattered, then heart and lungs and other organs squelching, until it was all a sickening reddish-green pulp beneath him. He took one look at the what remained of the head and staggered away, retching.

For a long time he knelt on the burning ground, his tears dripping onto his bile splattered over the rocks, remembering Emaille's slight, slender frame bundled in her cloak in his arms, when he'd carried her wounded to meet her mistress. All of her innocence, lost.

With an effort he pushed onto shaking legs, straightening. The battle had passed him by, carrying up to the ridge atop which the blood elves had first appeared, a last desperate charge by the night elves as naga belabored them from behind and blood elves gave way in ordered ranks, arrows and spells raining on the beaten night elves. Some were trying to surrender and simply being slaughtered.

He watched it all, sick and weary and full of grief. He knew he should join them, but it was all hopeless. Completely hopeless. What was he doing here? Watching while blood elves and night elves slaughtered each other over the fate of one exile on a broken world who'd been lawfully pardoned by those who had grievances against him. It wasn't justice that had brought Maiev here, but vengeance, and he was sick unto death of it. Fadingstar dead, Fienna dead, Emaille dead, all the night elves dead or dying. He had no quarrel with the blood elves or these naga, and he didn't mean to die fighting this battle, when his own quarry was out there somewhere, walking free after his crimes against humanity.

In the midst of his despair a thought like a shining beacon on a hill filled his mind. Sha'tar'ath, City of Light. All was not lost, if he could find his way there. Perhaps, perhaps. There must be some hope in this world, dark as it seemed. The thought of kneeling before the naaru made him weep anew. Maybe there he could lay down his burdens and rest for a time, and feel no more grief, fear no more treachery.

With faltering steps he turned away from the carnage as the last of the night elves died their futile deaths. In his mind he could see the path Nordos of Telredor had taken to get from his miserable little hut to Sha'tar'rath. He would have to go south and west, far, far to the west. But his steps were firm and resolute.

He had nothing to slow him, behind.


	5. The Whip and the Hammer

Chapter Four

The Whip and the Hammer

The sun beat down mercilessly overhead. For a long time it had been a discomfort as unbearable as his grief, but it seemed as if the Light viewed his quest to find Sha'tar'ath as a pilgrimage; for the last day and more of nonstop walking the Light had sustained him, holding weariness, hunger, and even thirst at bay.

It could do nothing for his grief, however. The power of the Light knew no bounds. Plague, sickness, curse, injury, even death could at times be healed, but even it could do nothing but offer comfort to the righteous sorrow of departed companions. And Puros accepted it was so, for without grief there would be no justice. The only comfort from grief was the numbness of exhaustion, both physical and of the soul. Still, he grimly accepted the harsh antidote.

If the Light willed, and the holy naaru acquiesced, in Sha'tar'ath he would find aid in bringing justice to those who had slain the innocent night elves.

He stumbled on a rock, going down to one armored knee, and for a moment exhaustion overwhelmed him. The power of the Light knew no bounds, but the faith of Puros Lightfinder and the strength with which he could call upon it did. His only comfort was that he was close to finding a reprieve from the hellish red wasteland he traveled through. The memories of Nordos of Telredor, which he had lived through within the Broken Draenei's mind, suggested that he was very, very close to the pass that would take him from this red desolation into the trees that had once been a fraction of that vast forest of Terrokar, which had before spread across the southern reaches of Draenor. A bastion of that mighty forest remained upon a floating continent, and at its edge the naaru rebuilt Sha'tar'ath.

There would be shade, within those trees, and water. He would need fear predatory animals and wild packs of hostile creatures once native to Draenor, but he could also have fire of a night, and perhaps wholesome meat to roast and edible plants to find. The naaru, true to their ways, had managed to preserve life even after the death of a world.

But he was not there yet. With a pained groan he used the haft of Purity's Burden as a prop to push back to his feet, staggering forward. Just over this rise, if his secondhand memory served. Just over this rise, another hour's travel at most, and he would be there. Perhaps he could finally find rest for a time. He took a few more steps, and it spread out before him.

The ravine was just where the Broken Draenei had said it would be. It was a narrow, twisty path, choked with odd thorny plants, which went into a dark tunnel through more of those plants and ended in a steep drop down into the forest, which was composed of oddly tall, thick trees.

What the aged creature had failed to notice, however, in the fogged haze that was its devolved mind, was the nature of the ravine. Viewing the imperfect memory Puros had imagined a ravine such as one would find on Azeroth, a narrow cut between two steep hills. Certainly, to the right the hill was steep. And to the left it was even steeper. The problem was that left-hand steepness was a straight drop down thousands of miles into a roiling hotbed of rocks and lava.

Puros had heard Illidan speak of the edge of the continents, but this was the first time he'd seen it. Overcome by curiosity he took a detour from his path and moved cautiously over to stand at the brink, staring down. After a good, long look he wished he hadn't, and scrambled backwards to the other side of the ravine, where it rose steeply up in rocky outcroppings that looked as if they could fall at any moment. That side of the ravine looked positively welcoming compared to the endless drop on the other side.

When he turned back to continue on his way, the path ahead of him was blocked.

. . . . .

Twenty feet away, standing in the exact center of the ravine, a slender figure shrouded in a somewhat soiled and threadbare cloak and hood stood at his ease, empty hands held loosely at his sides. In any other circumstance he might have seemed harmless. Nothing about him seemed particularly awe-inspiring or threatening, but Puros still felt a spark of fear which he quickly stamped down.

After disappearing for so long there he was, looking at home in this hellish place. And while his clothes were more ragged than when Puros had last seen him, and though he still looked on the brink of death by starvation, Puros had no doubt that the youth was as rested and dangerous as he ever had been.

Nex-thanarak, the criminal he had made it his duty to bring to justice. In the chaos since coming to Draenor he had all but forgotten about the boy. And now here he was, and Puros was so very, very weary.

"Greetings again, Lightfinder," Nex said softly.

Puros set his hammer down wearily, leaning against the head of it. "I had hoped you dead, boy."

The demon hunter smiled, none of that emotion touching the bottomless wells of his eyes. "In your condition, I might have hoped the same."

An abrupt laugh tore free from within the hollow emptiness of his heart. "True, you've picked an inopportune time to appear. But no matter how unfit I may be for the task, the time to pursue justice is always now." Nex made no reply, and he felt a flash of irritation. The murderer couldn't keep quiet to save his own life, and _now_ he decides to say nothing? Puros hefted Purity's Burden, the oddly organic crystalline head brightening from within as he formed a seal of vengeance upon it. "Justice is come for you, Nex-thanarak."

Nex finally stirred. "Justice can go bugger Mercy while Honor looks on. I've come for my whip, Lightfinder. Give it to me and you can continue on your way."

Puros stared at the slender human in disbelief. "You think I would step aside from my duty simply because you _offer me clemency_? It is not the right of the condemned to offer pardon to the headsman. For Emaille and all the others your treachery has slain I'll have justice. Yes, and vengeance too!"

Nex looked on the verge of making some mocking remark, but then their eyes met for a moment and he hesitated. Perhaps the boy saw something of the pain and weariness of soul that filled Puros. "I have nothing of the bond of affection you obviously felt for this night elf. To pretend sympathy when I do not understand your grief would be patronizing. Still, I find it interesting you've found some convoluted mental path to laying this death, also, at my feet." For a moment Nex, too, looked weary. "Give me my whip, paladin, and be on your way. I've told you more than once that I have no interest in killing anything but demons and those who serve them. Don't force this conflict."

Though the boy's words inflamed his rage, he was long past the point of being baited by Nex's clever rationalizations and arguments. "It is not I who forces this fight. From the first moment we met I felt this confrontation bearing down upon us, boy. Every lie, every crime, every treachery on your part has only added fuel to my righteous cause. And you think to avert it?"

"I could easily avert it simply by fleeing. You look barely fit to walk five paces, let alone provide a challenge to me. Paladin, give me my whip. I realize blind faith and unrelenting persistence go hand in hand, but for once quit being a fool and just relent."

Puros glared at the man who'd ruined his life with wrath dangerously bordering on hatred. He'd been prepared for this fight from the beginning, and every time he'd confronted the boy Nex had either surrendered or fled. Now, when a confrontation seemed destined, he was _still_ trying to avoid it? "If you flee I will pursue you. If you fight I will destroy you. If you don't wish to fight I suggest you resign yourself to it, before I take you down with a single blow." With an easy shrug of his shoulders he slid his pack down to the ground. "But if it's the whip you want..."

He opened his pack and fumbled through it down to the bottom, searching along the rough fabric until he felt the vile material which made up Nex's demonic whip. He pulled it free with a mighty tug and held it over his head. The thing burst into flame and writhed like a snake against the wire which held it, but the wire held.

Puros looked at the vile thing with revulsion, hating the touch of it even through his leather glove. Then he took two short, powerful steps and hurled the thing as high and as far out over the abyss as he could.

Face expressionless, Nex watched it drop into that gulf, thousands of miles to the maelstrom at its center. Even after the tainted thing was out of sight he continued to stare at the spot where it had disappeared. When he finally turned to face Puros his face still bore that blank look. "Really?"

"Did you think I could do otherwise?" Puros demanded. "I'd sooner die than see that evil tool fall into your evil hands."

Nex continued to stare at him for a few more moments, and then he shrugged in resignation. "Well, you've had it coming," he said, and his right hand dropped to rest upon the unusually large pommel of the dagger at his waist.

Feeling a surge of anticipation Puros swung his hammer back into his hand, clapping it against his shield to make sure it was firmly strapped to his left arm. Then he called upon the Light for strength to face this last challenge and strode forward warily.

Nex broke into a sprint towards him, drawing the odd dagger in his right hand even as, like magic, one of his small double-pointed throwing daggers appeared in his left hand. Without pausing his swift rush forward the young demon hunter hurled the throwing weapon. It was well-thrown, right for the eyeslit of his helmet, but Puros remained calm as he raised his shield and ducked his head to ward the throw, wary of the other odd knife being thrown as well while his vision was blocked.

Instead a force like a hammer swung by an ogre struck him in the middle of his back, throwing him forward. His shield slipped from before his eyes and he caught a brief glimpse ahead, enough to see that Nex had disappeared. He thrust out his hands to slow his fall, kicking one knee up desperately to keep from falling flat, but before he even hit the ground he felt searing agony at the back of his neck, the place where his breastplate and helmet joined in a weak spot with only the chain mail coif beneath protecting him. At first it felt like a fist, driving into his collarbone, and then more like the spike of a molten pickaxe digging down towards his heart.

Then it was gone, and he felt numbness spreading. It was a killing blow, and he...

. . . . .

Nex pushed to his feet, staring down at the stricken paladin as blood gushed from the back of his neck, darkening the red soil beneath him. He was certain his dagger had severed the man's spinal cord at the base of his neck, ending the battle with that single blow Lightfinder had boasted of.

Sad, really. As he'd expected the thrown weapon had distracted the paladin while he Blinked behind with all the force of his forward sprint funneled into the dagger thrust to the back. The only surprise had been the paladin's incredible armor, which had halted even the Blinkstrike's wicked point. A bit disappointing, that his dagger hadn't been keen enough to punch through. Still, the man had been off-balance and confused, and finding the weakness at his neck hadn't taken long.

Turning away from the dying paladin for the moment he walked over to the ravine's edge, staring down at the endless drop below. It had been a temptation to Blink out and catch the whip, using levitation to return to the ledge. Simple pragmatism had prevented it: he hadn't expected the paladin to throw Rachondimus's whip, and by the time he realized what was happening it was a choice between Blinking and catching the whip close enough to be vulnerable to the paladin's attack, or waiting, by which time the whip would have passed out of the Blinkstrike's teleport range before he could perform the calculations.

Still, he stared down, lamenting the loss of a truly fine weapon. "What a pain in the ass," he muttered, turning. He couldn't believe he'd followed the oaf so far for _this_. As he completed the turn he froze, eyes widening in shock.

Severing his spinal cord should have paralyzed him, but somehow Lightfinder was on his knees, hands upraised. A column of blinding Light suffused him, and in the midst of that column, so bright they were agony to look upon, two hands of Light rested on the paladin's shoulders, bolstering him and filling him with holy power. In an instant the weariness and privation had fled from the paladin's face, and Nex was certain the wound to his neck was fully healed as well.

Much as he would have liked to ask how it was possible, Nex took the more pragmatic approach of reaching down with his left hand to grasp the handle of the succubus's whip tied around his waist, pulling it free with a sharp _snap_. Then he lunged forward, cracking the whip to wrap around the paladin's hammer even as he held the Blinkstrike ready to thrust.

Lightfinder surged to his feet with surprising speed, shield coming up to bat aside the whip's probing tip. The paladin lunged forward as well, swinging the Draenish hammer in a surprisingly swift and well-aimed blow. Nex lurched to the side, throwing himself into a roll even as the paladin spun and darted for him again. He came to his feet at the end of the roll and leapt away again, spinning in midair and cracking the whip out to catch the hammer. This time, with Lightfinder already committed to the swing, he couldn't alter the course of the hammer quick enough, and the whip wrapped around it beneath the hammer's head, locking the two weapons together.

Immediately the whip, crafted by fel hands with fel materials, began to smoke and burn, the hammer's head glowing brighter as holy energy suffused it. Nex yanked as hard as he could, trying to wrest the hammer from the paladin's grip, but Lightfinder held tightly. A moment later the holy energy within the hammer traveling down the length of the whip reached his left hand, enveloping it in searing agony.

Nex released the whip with a curse and leapt backwards again, hand clenched in pain. _Gods damn, stupid Draenei. I save your worthless life and you give my enemy a fucking holy relic._

This was proving more problematic than he'd expected. Never having actually fought Lightfinder in true combat he hadn't been expecting the strength and skill with which the paladin wielded his weapon, to say nothing of the quality of his armor. All this time he had put the man on the level of the paladins that had accompanied him, the level of paladins Nex had fought in the past. But no paladin he'd ever fought before showed these abilities. This was turning into a real fight.

Hell, he might actually _die_.

No sense getting his hopes up. He preferred using weapons to kill his enemies, conserving his reserves for when they were really needed. It looked as if he'd need them now.

As he leapt away Lightfinder followed, weapon poised to swing. Nex raised his hands and formed a spell matrix he didn't often use. Lightfinder wasn't far from him, but the spell was fairly simple to form; his injured and nearly useless left hand made it take longer, but still he unleashed it far before the paladin closed the distance. For a moment Lightfinder stiffened, eyes widening in shock, and then lucidity fled from his gaze and he turned and fled.

Overwhelming fear was useful, certainly, but demons and undead were usually immune to it, and he'd met few mortal enemies dangerous enough that he needed to incapacitate them rather than simply killing them. As the paladin fled Nex turned and ran the other way, slamming the Blinkstrike back into its sheath and drawing out the Ankh. It required a lot of concentration to run and tweak the healing artifact's matrix at the same time, and it required more energy than he would have liked. No help for it, though; this fight was too frantic for him to try it with only one hand, especially if he was going to be casting spells, and he couldn't afford to wait for the demon skin to heal it for him.

Soothing energy enveloped his left hand, taking away much of the stiffness and most of the pain. Nex flexed his fingers experimentally a few times as he shoved the ankh back into his pocket. Not great, but good enough. He turned back to Lightfinder, already casting.

The paladin was casting as well, and looked as if he had been for a few moments already. Nex had expected his fear spell to last longer, but at the same time he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Servants of the Light were always resistant to such things. As Lightfinder continued casting Nex stretched out his hand, summoning shadow energy into it, and made a gripping gesture. Lightfinder's strident prayerful intonation ceased abruptly as the man's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth. Eyes widening in surprise, the paladin gestured up at his face, obviously trying to dispel the effect. He didn't yet realize he'd been silenced.

It wouldn't last long. Nex began gathering shadowy energy into his hands, forming a ball of inky blackness. When it was complete he hurled it, and the spell moved with surprising speed to strike the paladin. Lightfinder responded by lifting his shield, and the bolt struck it and splashed across the brilliantly shining metal, dissipating harmlessly.

Needless to say, Nex was surprised. His shadowbolt wasn't the most potent of his spells, but even if blocked it had the force to throw a burly man through the air. He focused his second sight on the shield, and saw that it had been heavily enchanted with wards against shadow. He doubted it offered complete protection, since such items were rare even for paladins as well-equipped as Lightfinder, but it was enough to deter him from attempting shadow spells in the future. Not unless he had no other choice.

Lightfinder, finding himself silenced and his enemy casting spells at him, began charging forward once more. Nex hurriedly began crafting the spell matrix for a chaos bolt: he hadn't tried one since that dubiously successful attempt against Imelda the banshee, but he was in the mood to try it again, and he didn't know when he'd have another opening to cast the lengthy spell during this fight.

As the chaotic green and black energy gathered in his palm, all his concentration on completing the spell, he saw Lightfinder skid to a halt. He flicked his eyes up to see what the paladin was doing, and in that moment Light blazed out from around the man. He tried to look away but couldn't; the Light continued to burn into him, first blinding him and then stripping away all his thoughts and emotions until the only thing he could feel was an overwhelming desire to flee from the Light. He started to turn and run, and the forgotten chaos bolt matrix he'd been in the midst of forming fell apart and exploded.

After an eternity in the air he flopped across the ground, ears ringing and eyes completely blinded. His mind was still stupefied, and agony once more spread up his hand from where it was again horribly burned. He finally stopped rolling, and for several moments he lay still, struggling to focus his thoughts into some semblance of lucidity. Then he felt the ground vibrate slightly under his cheek, and focused his second sight in time to perceive a hammer falling towards him.

In desperation he rolled to the right, the crystalline head of the hammer glancing off his shoulder and smashing into the ground. The force of the blow was still enough to knock him sprawling, but the physical pain struck him from his stupor, and in mid-roll he was able to get his limbs back in control and come to his feet. He was still blinded from the Light, but his second sight let him see just as well, and his eyesight was slowly returning. The hammer whistled for him again, and again he barely managed to dodge, this time ducking the hammer as it whistled past his head. He lurched forward, getting behind the paladin, and drew the Blinkstrike in a blow that had its keen edge scraping across the joint behind the paladin's knee. Lightfinder snarled as the dagger bit in, twisting and again swinging the hammer for him. Nex dropped flat to the ground on both hands, twisting and kicking out with his legs, and the paladin fell to the ground as well.

Immediately Nex was up and stabbing his Blinkstrike at the vulnerable spot the paladin's raised arm provided beneath the rondel. Lightfinder slammed his arm down and the dagger scraped against the thick armor with an irritating screech. Somehow despite being on his side Lightfinder managed to swing his hammer, forcing Nex to leap over the blow, and in that small fraction of a moment the paladin managed to get to one knee, raising his shield to block a thrust to the eyeslit of his helmet. Then he swung his hammer again, and Nex was again forced to duck around it, coming behind Lightfinder as the paladin finally managed to get to his feet.

Nex checked the Blinkstrike's spell matrix. It was almost stable enough to use again. If he could manage to survive at close quarters against Lightfinder for another thirty seconds or so it would be ready for use. _Easier attempted than accomplished_, he thought with a grim smile as he leapt away from another powerful swing, charging in behind it and slashing at the paladin's gorget. The hammer's backswing came a moment later and he was forced to catch at Lightfinder's arm and shove it away, leaving him open for that enchanted shield to slam him in the face.

He went down, ears ringing, and tucked into a backwards roll, coming up on one knee and raising both arms over his head to push aside another downward stroke of the hammer. The shield came at his face again, and he barely rolled around it, catching Lightfinder's shield arm near the elbow and heaving, while he kicked out with his foot and tripped the man. Lightfinder went crashing down. Fifteen seconds. He leapt forward, swinging his dagger down, but the paladin kicked backward and he was forced to dodge, giving the man time to shove to his feet and spin, hammer whistling around. Nex backed away again.

Lightfinder knew he could Blink, or if he didn't he was an idiot. Best not to assume that; the paladin had to be ready to respond to Blink attacks. Likely he was trying to keep Nex in view, and the moment Nex disappeared from his sight he was ready to react instantly. Nex had enough respect for the paladin's skill to assume that with his superior armor he could survive an attack even if it came from directly behind him, provided he knew it was coming. That left him with the option of making his Blink attack perfect enough that even expecting it Lightfinder couldn't react, a dubious thing, or putting Lightfinder in a position where he couldn't react even though he knew it was coming.

The Blinkstrike's matrix fell into place, and Nex feigned a trip and went to one knee. Immediately Lightfinder responded by sweeping his hammer down towards his head. It was a blow not even he with all his speed could possibly dodge or parry, just as he'd planned; the sort of opportunity that Lightfinder would fully commit to, swinging with all his might. He actually felt it starting to connect on the back of his head before he Blinked, directly above the falling hammer. As the weapon smashed into the ground Nex shoved his Blinkstrike into the eyeslit of the paladin's helmet. He felt it go in, through the eye, even as Lightfinder bellowed in surprise.

Then blinding Light poured through the slit, shoving his dagger back, and a moment later the paladin's shield connected with his chest, throwing him through the air. Nex moved with the blow, doing a backflip and landing lightly on his feet, all his attention focused on the offending Light. "You've got to be kidding me. How many times am I going to have to kill you?"

. . . . .

His right eye burned like fire, and he couldn't see with it anymore, but he grimly squeezed it shut and relied on his left. He couldn't afford to relent, not for a second. He lunged forward, swinging with all his might, and the demon hunter again slipped out of the way, coming behind him. Puros lurched forward, and a moment later he felt the dagger bounce off his backplate, missing the vulnerable spot Nex had been aiming for. The damned boy was agile as a cat, and tough as hell, too; his left hand was burned and by all appearances nearly unusable, and the explosion of that wicked spell he'd been casting had obviously injured him, but neither attack had slowed him down.

Puros feinted left then pivoted right, hammer sweeping around, and Nex dropped beneath the blow and lunged at his chest, trying to tackle him. A good strategy, for an agile opponent to use against someone in heavy plate. And while the boy had the strength for it he didn't have the necessary weight in that emaciated frame. Puros took a step back and planted his foot, holding firm against the tackling force, then swept his shield across, buffeting Nex across the shoulders. The demon hunter once again slipped around towards his back. Instead of trying to turn into the attack he spun the other way, swinging his shield, and the boy was caught off guard, barely getting his hands in front of the blow as he was again tossed aside. He landed in a roll and once more came up on his feet, seemingly barely fazed by the solid hit.

Puros was getting worried. The Light was with him, that was for certain; he'd been blessed when the holy energy suffused him, washing away his weariness and want and healing the fatal wound. He'd been doubly blessed when it had ardently defended him from a killing blow. But the fact remained that the Light had only served him defensively, and Nex wouldn't tire like he already was.

It was obvious his attempt to reach Sha'tar'ath had taken on the aspect of a Pilgrimage. The Light wanted him to reach that holy city alive. Or perhaps it wanted him to prevail and defeat Nex once and for all. Or perhaps both. But whatever happened, he was going to need to find a way to best the boy's speed. And even more terrifying, that Blinking the boy was doing. Though he'd only done it twice, and it was obvious there was some sort of grace period between each attempt, the fact was that Puros could think of little defense against it. He'd never seen such controlled, precise teleportation; even skilled mages could rarely control more than how far forward they Blinked, at least not without intense concentration. That the boy could in the midst of intense fighting make such precise Blinks, not only altering his location but the direction he was facing and the way he'd been moving, was nothing short of spectacular. If it hadn't resulted in him coming a hair's breadth from dying on both occasions he would have been truly impressed.

_Light help me find a way_. Rage burned in him, nearly as hot as it had when he'd watched poor Emaille speared. Here was his enemy, beneath his hammer at last, and he couldn't manage to finish him! He sincerely doubted that the darkness Nex served would intervene when he struck the killing blow, as the Light had done for him. All he had to do was create an opportunity to _strike_ that blow.

Hmm, that was a thought. Nex had proven to be full of surprises, while though Puros had managed a few tricks he had been fairly straightforward. Perhaps it was time to change that.

He closed with the demon hunter in a swift, fierce burst, leading with his shield this time in a savage attempt to smash Nex in the face. The boy rolled aside, and Puros swung his hammer. Nex ducked, right into the knee Puros slammed up at the agile youth. His armored knee hit Nex right in the chin, throwing him back, and as Nex had done on many other occasions the demon hunter immediately threw himself into a backwards roll that he would come out of on his feet, once again facing Puros.

This time Puros hurled Purity's burden with all his strength. Nex completed his roll and began to rise, at the last second catching sight of the flying hammer. Eyes widening, the boy desperately threw up his burned hand, and a magical shield sprang up around him. The hammer hit with sufficient force to shatter the shield, striking Nex on his upraised left arm and shattering it, throwing him backwards.

By some miracle Nex came up out of the devastating blow, broken left arm cradled close to his side with the blackened hand clenched in a fist. The boy charged forward recklessly with that wicked dagger of his held in his good hand, assuming Puros didn't have a weapon and intending to make the most of the opening. Puros could almost see the mockery in the demon hunter's eyes, laughing at him for hurling aside his weapon on such a foolish gamble. Puros feigned grim defeat as he pulled back his hand, making it look like he was preparing to strike out with his fist. He waited until the last moment to subtly move his arm and envisioned his hammer back in his hand. Purity's Burden reappeared in his hand and he immediately swung it with all his might. The demon hunter stared at the weapon sweeping towards him. His reckless charge put him right in the hammer's path, and any attempt to dodge would still result in him getting hit by the weapon's full weight. Puros felt a grim satisfaction as he put all his strength into the swing, eyes darting to look the boy in the face as the blow landed.

Nex was smiling slightly.

With horror Puros remembered the last time he'd fully committed to a powerful swing. Summoning all his strength he checked the hammer's motion, already slamming his head to the side and buckling his knees so that whatever weak point the boy Blinked to would be harder to hit. But Nex didn't disappear the way he had before, instead continuing forward and slamming right into Puros's limply held shield, bearing them both to the ground. Puros swung with his hammer, which he'd foolishly allowed to stop moving and thus lose all momentum. The blow was weak, and rather than try to dodge it Nex met it with that wicked dagger, striking at the underpart of his lobstered gauntlet where only leather protected his fingers. He felt the weapon bite deep in a red flare of pain, and with horror watched his hammer fly away with blood spurting from his fingers. It looked as if one had been completely severed.

Somehow when he'd landed on his back the boy had ended kneeling atop him, and now Nex shifted his knees to pin both his arms. The demon hunter was far too light to hold him like that for long, but the boy didn't need long; the wickedly sharp dagger hovered over his eyeslit, close enough to make his eyes cross. Nex's broken and burned left arm was pressed to his gorget, keeping his head from moving.

As the blade flicked forward Puros called out to the Light in desperation to save him one last time, and almost sobbed in relief when that wicked point skittered on an invisible shield. Puros shoved with all his might, easily pushing Nex aside, and with effort he stumbled back to his feet, calling his hammer into his grip once more. His first and second fingers refused to close around it, and it was only when he looked down that he realized they'd been cut off. One was still bound inside his leather glove, but the other had fallen free and lay forlornly on the red ground.

The sight struck him hard. This was the first battle in which he'd lost parts of himself. And an eye and two fingers no less! All of his strength was in his hands, all of his purpose in his sight. After all he had sacrificed, all he had lost, was he to lose the ability to wield a weapon in service to the Light as well?

"Down to your last trick, paladin?" Puros looked up slowly to see Nex standing not far away, smiling harshly. The boy was noticeably swaying, and his arm was a mess, but there was only triumph Puros saw in those empty black eyes. "How long will your divine shield save you?"

Puros gritted his teeth. "It's no trick, boy. The Light is with me, and it will stay with me until you lie dead before me."

"Is that so?" Nex said. He suddenly looked angry. "Then perhaps it's time to take the Light from you." Flame appeared in the depths of those black eyes. His pale, almost scaly skin began to darken. His black hair began to glow, like coals hidden beneath ash, until they abruptly burst into flame. His boots began to shrink and shift, becoming hard, tough hooves. Puros stared with horror at what he saw before him.

Nex was turning into a demon.

. . . . .

Nex hadn't wanted to do this. It had been more than a day since the battle between the night elves and the blood elves and naga. Since then he had felt nothing from Stormrage, and had begun to hope the corrupted night elf had forgotten about him. This was going to be a beacon to his master, calling his attention upon him as surely as light draws moths.

Also it just wasn't sporting. It was like using a steam tank to win a wrestling match.

Of course, it also wasn't sporting to have a dozen lives and never die no matter how many times you were stabbed. Lightfinder had survived in this fight far too long. Sure, Nex could probably still win without the Illidari stone, but frankly he was sick of this. The man had been an annoyance and worse for far too long; for him to refuse to die now was just adding insult to injury. It seemed the Light truly wanted Lightfinder alive, and with every demonstration of that, perversely, the more he himself wanted the man dead.

But now he wanted more than that. The idiot wouldn't shut up about the damned Light, as if as long as he had it he really thought he had some hope. Nex's reserves were almost gone, he was injured, and he'd kept this back until now because he wanted Lightfinder to at least die in an even fight. But the fight wasn't even because the damned Light intervened for _Puros_ when it had never seen fit to intervene on the behalf of Nex-thanarak, an innocent child tormented all his life by demons, the worst of them being the one feigning to be his mother. He was angry, he realized, more than even when he fought succubi, and he felt more and more like taking _everything_ from the fool. Stripping away his divine shield, his armor, his shadow-resisting shield, his hammer, and the damnable holy energy that filled him.

Lightfinder was staring at him in horror. "By the Light, boy, what have you become?" he whispered.

Nex had no idea what the paladin was talking about, and frankly he didn't care. The power of the stone filled him in a torrent, a rush greater than it had been even when he'd used it last, as if proximity to his master or some property of Outland had increased size of the pool of corrupt energy. It made him want to laugh from the depths of his soul, it made him want to weep. It made him want to draw more, though there was no more to draw. "The Light won't save you, paladin," he said, "it didn't save me."

Then he formed all that energy into a devastating spell and unleashed it. It struck Lightfinder like a whirlwind.

Nex could dispel enchantments. He could burn away magic. With effort he could even strip away magical shields and protections. But the divine shield should have been beyond him. It wasn't beyond the power unleashed from the stone, however. The impenetrable bubble collapsed as if subjected to enormous pressure. The enchantment on the shield and hammer flared brightly then were stripped away. The enchantments on his armor, too, flared and then faded, and then that whirlwind of power struck Lightfinder.

The paladin threw back his head and screamed.

Within him the holy energy flared and burned with blue fire, burning the paladin's skin black in places as it fought to find an escape. The whirlwind sank in deeper and deeper, stripping away every bit of magic, every protection, every jot and tittle of the paladin's reserves of holy energy. When it was done Lightfinder knelt as if broken, his skin bearing blackened fissures where the burning mana had escaped. His hammer looked like a dull rock beside him, his shield no longer shone so bright, and his armor actually looked corroded and rusty in places.

"There," Nex said, slightly out of breath as the last of the Illidari stone's power left him. "Is the Light still with you?" Lightfinder made no response. Perhaps he hadn't even heard the question. "It's over, paladin. Time to give up and die."

Lightfinder slowly raised his head, brown eyes flashing. The look in his eyes was one Nex hadn't yet seen. He'd seen judgment and condemnation, disgust, horror, disdain, and contempt. He'd even seen pity. But this was the first time he'd seen hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred. It was surprisingly satisfying to finally see the paladin's lofty ideals stripped away and real human emotion revealed.

"Give up?" Lightfinder snarled. "Give up?" The words seemed to fill him with mindless rage. "Do you know what I've already _given up_ to hunt you, boy?" The paladin stared down at his severed finger, lying in the dust of Outland. "I joined the rebuilding of Stormwind because it was going to be the start of my new life. An end to the endless conflict and war. I planned to train new youths to go out into the world hunting scum like you, while I found a wife and started a family. I'd hoped to take a greater part in the Order's business, perhaps even lead it one day."

Those eyes shifted to meet his once more. Cursed him, hated him. Lightfinder continued in a low growl. "I took a dozen good men to their deaths. I followed a madwoman chasing a demon to this hell of a world where I'm doomed to remain until I die. I'll never find the peace my life of sacrifice for Azeroth has earned me. I'll never raise sons of my own to know the joys of the Light. I've lost everything chasing you. _Everything_! My life, my men, my standing. All I have left is-"

"Nex." Nex cut in. "All you have left is Nothing."

Lightfinder panted, glaring murder at him. "Yes," he hissed. "All I have left is you. You and vengeance."

Nex looked at the broken man. He truly had lost everything, even the confidence and strength of his misguided ideals. The proper thing in this situation would have been to gloat. Perhaps toss out a few taunts about his precious Light abandoning him, but Nex couldn't bring himself to do it. To his surprise, he felt something he'd never felt before. Pity. He'd always assumed pity must feel similar to contempt, but in truth it was almost the exact opposite.

He turned away. "I can't bring you home, paladin. I'm exiled here as much as you. Go away. Find some purpose to your life, if you can."

A low whirring sound was all the warning he had, and he ducked in time to watch the paladin's dull hammer fly over his head and out into the abyss, following after his own lost whip. If he hadn't ducked it would have taken his head.

He whirled just as Lightfinder closed the distance between them, leaping forward in a tackle. Nex thrust out his hands to push him aside, and Lightfinder's hands snapped out and caught his wrists, holding them in an iron grip. "Do you know how long it takes to fall two thousand miles?" the paladin snarled into his face. In spite of the situation, Nex actually found himself beginning to do the calculations that would tell him. At an immediate rough estimate something like nineteen hours, although with the thinner air terminal velocity would be... "You're about to find out," Lightfinder finished, and shoved against him, bearing them both back the ten or so feet to the edge.

Nex twisted his arms in the paladin's grip until he could get his hands wrapped around the paladin's wrists. He held on with equal tightness. "Care to join me?" he asked. He expected Lightfinder to come to his senses and stop, but Lightfinder kept on going, rushing him to the edge and then at the very brink shoving with all his might. Nex hung on, and the move overbalanced both of them, sending them tumbling over the drop still locked in a death grip.

Nex let go of Lightfinder's hands, forming the proper gestures as he created the spell matrix and invoked his levitation. As he'd expected Lightfinder let his wrists go, fool that he was, as if the man thought the move would be harmful to Nex rather than himself. Nex finished the spell and his fall halted, and he immediately began casting a similar levitation on his falling enemy.

Two seconds later, both were standing over the abyss, only the tenuous matrix of his spells holding them up. "Are you ready to stop this foolishness?" Nex asked. Lightfinder replied by stretching out his hand, remaining fingers curling as if to grasp his hammer. Nothing happened, and for a moment he looked lost, stunned by the failure of his weapon. Had he not seen the sheen go out of the hammer as the enchantments and Lightforged purity were scoured away? But that didn't seem to faze the paladin for long. His forlorn look hardened into hatred once more, and he drew a simple knife from his belt. Nex shook his head in disbelief. "You do realize that the first hit either of us takes is going disrupt the spell and send that person plummeting to his death. But unlike you, I can cast the spell again."

"Not if you're dead," Lightfinder said in an oddly flat voice, and charged forward over the air, the levitation spell turning the emptiness beneath his feet as solid as good stone. Nex waited, watching not the charging paladin but the area beneath him, and at the right moment whipped back one of his double-pointed knives and hurled it with all his strength at the eyeslit of Lightfinder's helmet.

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

There was a sharp _clang_ as Lightfinder parried the thrown weapon with his knife. But even that contact shattered the levitation spell matrix, sending the paladin plummeting. The look on the man's face at that moment would have been funny at any other time, but as it was Nex simply watched, feeling nothing, as the man fell roughly five hundred feet and landed with a sickening thump onto a floating island passing beneath him that was roughly twenty by twenty feet.

Nex had timed it so that Lightfinder would land on that island as it passed. He could understand wanting to die, although he had no idea what reasoning had made the paladin desire it so strongly that he'd fight on even facing its certainty, when all he had to do was walk away. But whatever the man's reasons Nex felt he at least deserved to die swiftly, rather than falling for an eternity to his death, dreading the final moment for nearly a day before the end came.

With slow, careful steps he walked forward, easing the strength of his levitation spell so it appeared as if he were walking on stairs down to his dead enemy. The paladin may have wished for a better burial slab than this, but there was a sort of beauty to a tomb drifting peacefully through the air.

But not all of Lightfinder would be able to lay in state on the floating island. Without ceremony Nex grabbed the man's shoulder and turned him over on the stone. Though broken and bleeding, Lightfinder's face showed an expression of peaceful acceptance. Nex stared at that expression for a moment, hating that for all the paladin's failures, for all that he'd endured, he could still embrace his death so calmly. Then he drew his last remaining heavy-bladed knife and grabbed the paladin by his gray-streaked hair. His moment of humanity had passed. As he'd feared, use of the Illidari stone had caught his master's attention, and now Stormrage was swift approaching.

He needed a trophy.


	6. Man Drawn from the Mud

Chapter Five

Man Drawn From the Mud

Stormrage was coming to kill him. Hurray.

Nex sat cross-legged on the hard ground of the ravine, not far from where he'd fought the paladin, cradling his burned and shattered left arm in his right hand. The Ankh's spell matrix was nearly stabilized once more, and he looked forward to using it to alleviate his pain and at least mend the worst of the broken bones. His demon skin was healing him, though slowly; at the moment, the demon skin was also protecting him from the worst of the discomfort of scalding stone and the relentless sun pounding down overhead. He could feel his master's displeasure radiating through their soul link, growing greater and greater the closer he came.

Maybe the corrupted night elf would be so enraged he'd kill him swiftly. That would be nice. Of course, Nex was prepared to endure hours of torment before his inevitable grisly death: he'd long ago come to realize that it wasn't the journey one should relish, but its ultimate end. In fact, the more he pondered it the more he came to realize that the least merciful thing Stormrage could do would be to leave him alive.

Of course, why let Stormrage have all the fun? Wouldn't it be even more hilarious to hurl the Illidari stone at his master, laughing as his soul was torn from his body? Deny the bastard the chance to vent his displeasure. Or better yet he could hurl the stone off the cliff, force Stormrage to deal with the hassle of either replacing the artifact or doing without.

Nex forced down the feelings of giddy elation. Best not to get his hopes up, when he'd probably just be disappointed again. Besides, it would be fun to see what Stormrage had to say. Yes, one should enjoy the journey, so that the ultimate end was an even greater pleasure.

He took out the Illidari stone, running his fingers over its smooth surfaces and the deeply etched runes. It was near completely tapped out, so soon after use, with only the passive mana flowing into his depleted reserves from it. He wished it was full again: wielding that much power had been exhilarating, so much so that he was probably still giddy from its effects. It might be why he was in such a good mood; usually not even imminent death made him this happy.

He felt the longing to fully tap the stone's power grow greater, and almost without realizing he he reached into the stone, clutching at the dribbles that still remained, then trying to grasp through them and tap directly into Stormrage's power. False gods, that would be _so _much power. He felt nothing, and with gritted teeth drew harder, straining.

Across the link Stormrage's displeasure flashed into white-hot rage, and a shocking surge pulsed through the stone into him. Agony traced its way through nerve of his body, down to the smallest, before meeting up in his head in a blinding jolt that made every muscle tense to their limits at once at once. He felt tendons snap and pop, further adding to the pain, as some muscles were strained beyond their breaking point. He tried to move, relieve some of that tension, but he was frozen in place as the agony continued on and on.

_Growing greedy, worthless creature? Are you not content to feel a fraction of my power every week or so? Do you think you even deserve to hold what you have? _This _is what you deserve!_

Nex felt more muscles tearing, more tendons snapping, and he screamed as the pain grew exponentially. Within his head Stormrage thundered. _NEVER TRY TO OVERTAP MY LINK AGAIN, HUMAN._ The agony pulsed for a moment more, and then gradually began to recede. Stormrage's voice became the barest impression, niggling into his mind, so that he barely comprehended it through the pain. _Of course, it may not be an issue for much longer. _Nex lay still as the agony gradually faded and he regained control of his limbs, which still jerked and twitched randomly in spite of his best efforts to keep them still. The giddiness had vanished, and he was returned to lucidity.

In the future, after he fully tapped the stone, he was going to have to be more careful about resisting the inevitable surge of magic addiction that followed. He still felt the urge to draw upon the stone, squirming within him like a living thing, but he ruthlessly locked it away alongside other human urges he had no use for.

After a few more moments he decided to try getting to his feet. Stormrage was almost here. Every attempt to move his limbs resulted in at best dull aches and at worst searing pain from torn muscles, but he managed to get his hand into the pocket that held the Ankh, and with some concentration soothed the worst of the damage. A pity he could do almost nothing for his arm, having to use the artifact for more pressing needs.

Trying to move quickly in this condition wouldn't be a picnic, but he felt like he could stand. So he did, the remainder of his reserves completely drained in powering the Ankh's healing matrix. It looked like he wouldn't be at his best when his master finally arrived.

The direction the link pointed towards indicated that Stormrage was high up in the air, flying, and less than a mile away. Awfully handy, being able to find his master through the link. Before too much longer Stormrage came into sight, a black shape like a large bat high in the distance. It didn't stay distant for long: he had no way of knowing how quickly the corrupted night elf was going, but it was very, very fast. The rapidly approaching shape abruptly grew smaller, and it took Nex a moment to realize Stormrage had tucked his wings in for a steep dive. His master plummeted towards him, falling faster and faster, and for a moment he was afraid Stormrage would crash into him and crush them both into the ground.

At the last possible moment those bat-like wings flared out, canting perfectly, and Stormrage swooped towards him flying almost horizontal less than five feet above the ground, like a hawk preparing to snatch up its prey. Nex remained still, hands harmlessly at his side, as Stormrage stretched out a clawed hand and grasped his shoulder, yanking him along in the flight. After a few disorienting seconds while the ground whipped by less than a foot beneath him they crossed over the ledge, and Nex found himself staring down at the endless drop to the chaotic molten core below.

After gliding for another hundred or so yards, the edge of the continent falling away behind them, Stormrage once again tucked in his wings, and Nex's stomach lurched as they went into another dive, nearly vertical this time.

Nex stared down at the horrifying drop, feeling a sense of sick dread mingled with anticipation. Did Stormrage mean to let him go, leaving him to fall to his death? Was he to face the fate he had spared Lightfinder in some cruel twist of irony? If so, was there anything he could do to prevent it? Unfortunately, the answer to both of those questions was probably not going to be the one he wanted. But the viselike grip on his shoulder remained tight, and Stormrage continued in his dive as if he meant to continue for a good while, occasionally shifting his tightly-folded wings this way and that to make minor adjustments to their flight, as if he had a destination in mind. Looking down, trying not to see the fate that probably awaited him, he finally saw their destination. At least, he both hoped and feared it was their destination.

It was one of the tiny floating islands, this one drifting nearly motionless. Less than six feet square, it incongruously had grass growing over its top, long enough to hang down its sides nearly to the bottom. A drizzle of water fell in a diagonal streak from above, as if a stream fell off one of the continent-islands above and sprayed its way down, past this rock. Stormrage shifted his wings again, bringing their descent in line with the tiny rock, making Nex certain that it was their destination. He watched it zoom closer with the speed of their fall. His worry turned to alarm when Stormrage didn't fan his wings out to slow them, past the last possible moment.

What seemed like far too late he heard the snap and roar as the wings spread and caught air, and they jerked as their speed rapidly decreased, as if Stormrage was using his wings to create a parachute effect. It wasn't enough though; the rock rose to meet them.

He felt the hand on his shoulder release, and after an instant of shock he desperately fumbled for his Blinkstrike and Blinked the less than ten feet to the rock below, altering his momentum so that when he came out of the teleport the force of his fall was directed directly upwards. He rose almost twenty feet in defiance of gravity before plummeting once more, landing with a jarring thud on the island. The grass cushioned his fall somewhat, and the mist of water was actually somewhat pleasant.

From below the island Stormrage burst into view, coming to a halt ten feet away with his wings spread, using effortless levitation to keep himself floating motionless. "Do you like the island, human? I didn't expect to find one with anything growing, but consider it a small favor in spite of your actions."

So, Stormrage meant to leave him here. He'd been afraid that was his master's intent from the moment he caught sight of it. If that was truly the case, it was likely this rock would make an effective prison: he didn't have the power to rise back to the continent, likely not even the Illidari stone would allow him to do so. There were far too few other rocks to try leapfrogging his way steadily upwards, and below while the rocks grew more frequent as they neared the core, there was nothing down there but death. Perhaps he could find more extreme measures to escape, such as some sort of portal fueled by the stone and some of his stolen trinkets, but he doubted Stormrage would leave him anything he could use.

Still, no sense giving in to inevitability just yet. "Actions, master?" he asked, trying for innocence.

Stormrage laughed, a soft, bitter noise. "Do you think I didn't see you, Nothing? Standing idle on that cliff staring down at the battle below, while my true servants fought to free me. Even if your inactivity were your only crime, it is enough to earn you an eternity drifting on this rock. While boredom and madness tear through you, with only death as your escape, you'll perhaps appreciate my own feelings at being trapped once more in a cage which had held me for ten thousand years."

Not likely. Nex wasn't sure how aging would work with him; sustained by his demonic magic, perhaps he _would_ live as long as he wished, or find his way to some bizarre lichdom when old age ended and a death of natural causes approached. Either way the point was academic: he looked forward to death far too eagerly to sit around on a rock doing nothing when it was an option. "I can hope you're too pragmatic to throw a sullen fit and toss a useful tool on a shelf to be forgotten."

Stormrage laughed darkly. "Perhaps. I could always come back for you, if I ever had need for a treacherous minion barely fit to do the work I set out for him, and who leads my enemies to me at a whim."

Confusion, amusement, or outrage? He settled on feigning all of them. "I'm not quite certain what you mean, Master."

Stormrage gritted his teeth, and Nex realized with unease that when it came to Shadowsong and his imprisonment, his emotions were dangerously volatile. "I find myself wondering how Shadowsong managed to follow me here. My suspicion grows when I see a human among her party who seems to know no name other than yours, so often does he belabor it. And most suspicious of all that you watch the battle from afar as if it's mere entertainment, when I called upon all my servants to come to my aid."

Nex returned that gaze calmly, though it wasn't easy. "I was coerced into bringing Shadowsong here. I serve you, but do not think I'm so loyal that I'd die for your sake." He allowed a small smile to touch his lips. "You share some of the blame as well, since you filled me with a compulsion to come to you by any means I could. She had the means. Of course, had I known of the compulsion I might have acted differently."

His master's lips drew back in a snarl, and those green eyes bored into him while his wings stretched to their full height, blocking the sun overhead. "You think this is a joke, human? You aided my most hated enemy in capturing me, and stood by while more faithful servants fought to free me."

"I somehow doubt you value me for my faithfulness," Nex replied calmly. "But you're wrong about me being idle." He reached into his cloak and drew out a small box, opening it and withdrawing a three-foot square of cloth so thin it was nearly translucent, soft to the touch and nearly as pliable as liquid. With a flourish he flung it in front of him, and it stiffened until it was perfectly flat and smooth. Then the cloth shimmered and disappeared, leaving behind a three-foot square area of pure blackness where it had been, constrained by razor-straight lines.

He hadn't expected to find a dimensional pocket portal among the items he'd pilfered, which is why it had taken him so long to identify the cloth for what it was. At first he'd thought the impressive power of the artifact emanated from the box which contained it, and had dismissed it as another useless trinket like the tiny, empty stoppered vial with the impossibly strong containment field.

He could not have been more wrong, or for that matter more delighted at being wrong. Dimensional pockets were fairly common, especially favored by mages; many magetowers had the equivalent of a dimensional closet filled with assorted odds and ends, and they were not uncommon in banks and reliquaries as well. But an artifact he could carry around which opened up into a dimensional pocket was something else entirely, a thing rare enough that its value exceeded even the Blinkstrike, and was likely to draw nearly as much comment as the Shard of Asteros, although of course it wouldn't be as coveted as that powerful wand.

He hadn't been fool enough to try to actually enter the dimensional pocket, but using a stick to do some crude tests he'd determined that the space within the pocket was quite large, big enough for the stick to swing freely without touching any side, which meant the pocket itself could hold at least six cubic feet of material, and likely was far larger. When he had more time he fully intended to fully explore the device and the dimensional pocket; the uses such a thing could be put to were extensive, and if its creators had made it with the means to sustain life it would make an incredibly useful space. Who knew, maybe he'd furnish it as a study.

Of course, unless he wanted more time than he'd ever want or need, he'd better hurry the hell up. Assuming Stormrage didn't just steal the pocket portal the way he'd stolen the Shard of Asteros.

Ignoring his master's open interest in the three-foot space he reached inside and felt around until he gripped matted hair. He closed his fist around it and tugged, pulling the paladin's head out of the dimensional pocket. The expression of peaceful acceptance Lightfinder had worn in death remained. Nex hardly thought it fair that the paladin should spend the rest of eternity so untroubled, after the trouble the man had caused him. "This one was going for reinforcements, some folk called the Draenei in some city called Sha'tar'ath. I doubt he would have returned in time to make a difference, but I assumed you wouldn't want potential enemies knowing of your presence."

His use for the dimensional pocket done, Nex turned away from Stormrage for a moment, reaching out and forming the subtle lines of power that would pull the cloth square back into this dimension. It shimmered back into view, fluttering down to his outstretched hand, and he stuffed it back into the box and returned it to his pocket. When He turned back to his master Stormrage's expression was one of keen interest. "Sha'tar, you say?" he whispered. He was silent for several moments, and then his gaze sought Nex out once more. "So, even in your craven treachery you are useful."

Nex shrugged. "I led your enemies to you. I assumed you would be equal to the task of defeating them. And, lo and behold, you were."

The corrupted night elf scowled, and when his gaze fell on the paladin's severed head once more he grimaced in distaste. "Dispose of that. I have no need of uncouth mementos."

"As you wish." Nex turned and flung the grisly trophy as high and as far as he could over the abyss, somewhat satisfied that that was the last he'd see of Puros Lightfinder.

Stormrage regarded him coldly for a moment, and then abruptly his expression became neutral. "Remain useful and I will overlook this, Nothing. Do not attempt such a trick again."

"I try not to use the same trick twice. At least, not on the same person."

With a snarl Stormrage's wings beat fiercely, propelling him forward and down until he stood directly in front of Nex. The corrupted night elf's hand shot out, gripping the Blinkstrike's large pommel, and Nex felt a massive surge of power as the artifact's spell matrix was subtly tweaked. Then another spell matrix rapidly formed, enclosing the dagger in an even more complex pattern, and blinding energy surged through it and into the dagger's spell matrix. Nex shut his eyes, grimacing, and when he opened them once more he was standing at the very edge of the island-continent with the endless drop below him. They'd teleported back to the ravine where his battle with the paladin had taken place. Impressive, that Stormrage had been able to form an interlocking spell matrix with an existing artifact matrix and work it to Blink them both several miles with such apparent ease.

Stormrage leapt into the air, wings snapping out and beating down powerfully, and then he was hovering in the air above Nex once more. He turned. "I am reminded of the first task I set you to, and the artifact I confiscated from you afterwards. It is tempting to steal from you these trinkets you've come into possession of, but perhaps they can serve more use in your hands than in mine." His wings beat heavily, propelling him a dozen yards higher. "I will be at the command tent in my main camp, not far from where I was delivered from Shadowsong's grasp. You may join me at your convenience. But I warn you: tardy servants are hardly useful, and I grow impatient." He closed a clawed hand into a fist, and Nex felt as if his innards exploded. He fell to his knees with a scream, clutching his midsection.

When he managed to get to his feet once more he saw Stormrage gliding away north and east like a monstrous bat. Then his master beat his wings heavily, rising up into the air, and then again and again, until he was far above the ground and winging swiftly away.

Nex stared at the rough ground he had to cover, filled with more than its fair of sudden crevices and steep ridges. Hurrying, it would take him half a day or so to cover the distance. Less, perhaps, if he utilized the Blinkstrike whenever he could. Stormrage's use of the dagger had destabilized the spell matrix to the very brink of collapse, showing masterful precision, which meant he had at least six minutes to wait before he could use it. At least it would save him time in places where he'd otherwise have to levitate or climb. And for everything else partial levitation would allow him to make those leaping bounds with greater speed than he could manage from flat-out running.

The Illidari stone was drained, and his reserves were low. Worse than either of these, his muscles were still somewhat shredded and his arm was a dull fire. To add to that he could already feel the heavy pressure building in his left temple, forerunner of the headache that signaled his need to enter the regenerative trance. By the time he covered the distance, speeding his progress with magical means, he would likely have a splitting headache. Worse, if he used the Ankh whenever its spell matrix was stable so he arrived in some sort of decent shape.

At least it beat sitting on a grassy rock, trying to convince himself it would be prudent to throw himself off and seek an end to the boredom in the molten jaws of the planetary core. And who knew, maybe he'd get lucky and be too late, and Stormrage would decide to kill him. With that thought to buoy him he broke into a pained trot in the direction his master had flown.

. . . . .

It was beautiful.

She hadn't thought anything on this hellish world could be lovely or pleasant. This land of bleeding red rocks occasionally broken by rifts from which fel greenish-black lava flowed, with scraggly plants struggling and dying under an unforgiving sun so intense that it pained the eyes even when you weren't directly gazing at it. The hunters had brought in some scrawny boars, painfully thin and reeking of demonic corruption, but other than that there was no food or water to be had.

And yet the sky. The sky was like nothing she had ever seen or imagined. On Azeroth night brought on a vista of inky blackness, liberally spread with stars so ubiquitous that few but astrologers and astromancers cared to make logs of their changes. The only break from that empty star-studded sky was the moon, changing by phases, but even its beauty could not draw the eye for too long before becoming mundane.

But the sky here was anything but mundane. The breaking of Draenor had torn the skies apart, so they constantly surged with manastorms and ribbons of arcane energy. These in themselves would have been endlessly fascinating, but it appeared Draenor was not the only world in this place; unlike Azeroth with its single moon, she could see three other worlds in the sky. Two were small enough to be moons, but one stretched over the horizon, completely blotting out the sky to the south and so large it dwarfed the broken world they stood upon. Clouds swirled across that world, ranging in color from gray to yellow to red in endless variations and patterns, and that too could have drawn her interest for long hours.

Then there was the maelstrom. She didn't know what it was, but it filled a small portion of the sky overhead, far away and yet massively huge. It swirled like a whirlpool of pale white and blue gasses, studded with stars, and at its center a blackness so deep she could almost feel the weight of it.

There was power, in that sky. Power so great it dwarfed the might of petty mortal spellcasters. So great it even made trivial the might of demon lords. But it was a power that she could no sooner grasp than she could bring back her homeland and her people's beloved Sunwell. It was beautiful and awe-inspiring, but at the same time painful, for it woke within her a hunger she'd managed to ignore for a long, long time. The last few months had been unrequited hell, watching her home burn, fighting the undead, going as a messenger to her village and leading their exile to the south, Scourge forces dogging their every step. Then the battle on the shores of Lordamere, imprisonment, and the frantic clash with the night elves to free Illidan Stormrage.

She had run herself ragged through it all, desperation and despair fueling her efforts. But as terrible as it had been, it had let her forget the loss of the Sunwell. That font of mana that her people had built a wondrous civilization around, often forgetting what they had. Saire had remembered soon enough, when the traitor Arthas had devoured it to resurrect that Kirin Tor outcast Kel'thuzad. They all had, and they remembered it still.

She had wandered the world, far from the soothing energies of the Sunwell, for years and years at a time. Yet now that it was gone, mere months passed since its destruction, she felt the loss of it every time she let her thoughts slip from some important purpose. It was something, even as a mage, that she had hoped she'd never have to suffer, and yet she was. They all were.

Magic addiction. It niggled within her, teasing her, taunting her. Her mana reserves were as full as they could be, but still she felt the hunger. The thirst. Like a man dying in the desert, a drop of water every hour. It wasn't enough to save her, only enough to make her feel her lack more keenly. And staring up at the wonder of this Outland's sky was like seeing a waterfall, an endless torrent, flowing past just out of reach while she suffered. Her people had lived beside the Sunwell for millennia, never realizing how it had changed them. Now its lack was changing them just as profoundly.

Against her will her eyes darted towards a ragged group among the refugees, avoided as if they had the plague. In a sense they did, although it was a plague they all suffered from, and held at bay only by luck or determination. But every one of them saw themselves in those huddled masses, if something in their situation didn't change.

They called the creatures lokivs, the Wretched. The hapless high elf men and women who had succumbed to their magic addiction to the point that it was changing them physically. Making them less than men, so overcome by desperation to have a magic that was no longer available that they often went berserk, attacking their fellows and trying to drain them dry of whatever pitiful magic reserves they held. None among the Wretched here had sunk to that state, but it was only a matter of time.

Those able to wield magic were less likely to suffer that fate, but some had. And between staring at a sky spread out like a magical banquet, having those pitiful creatures in plain sight whenever she looked in that direction, and having literally nothing to do, the endless hours dragged on. One after the other, as the sun set and blood elves and naga rushed here and there in their own purposes.

She wished she had some purpose, but for the moment there was nothing to do but sleep, and she'd done enough of that already in the day and more since the battle with the night elves. The people of her village were settled in with the refugees, and while she'd been a member of the Kirin Tor and a messenger to her village in Prince Kael'thas' name, she wasn't a member of his forces; when she had offered her aid to one of the Blood Prince's lieutenants the only option she'd been given was to be pressed into his army. She might eventually accept that option, but not while her people needed her.

"There they are, just sitting there. They ought to be killed before they can turn on us like rabid dogs."

She turned, annoyed, as Hiezal Nova came and stood beside where she sat on the ledge. "There's still some hope for them," she said. "What do you think Prince Kael'thas has been doing all this time, communing with Lord Illidan? He's trying to find a cure."

Hiezal laughed harshly. "Cure? There is no cure for this. The only thing that will save us now is a new Sunwell, or the old one restored. Some source of magic to feed our addiction."

"You don't know that."

"Don't I?" He sat down beside her, drawing his knees up to his chest to keep them from hanging over the edge. He looked oddly forlorn, sitting like that. "You're the mage, Firedge. Left Corona's Blaze as if you couldn't be gone fast enough and went to study in Silvermoon. So you tell me...did any of those studies tell you how to cure our ailment?"

Saire looked away. "You think I would have a solution, where not even Prince Kael'thas has found one? I've lasted this long by staying too busy to think of it."

"We're hardly busy now," he said softly. For a moment he glanced up at the sky, before turning away with a shudder. "And this is hardly a world suited to not thinking of it. At least when we were on Azeroth there was some remnant of, of It in the air, even after It was destroyed. Here there's nothing, and its lack is like a hole through my chest."

Saire closed her eyes. Talking about it really wasn't helping, either. She was surprised Hiezal had even brought it up; the subject of magic addiction and the Sunwell had become something of a taboo. Nobody liked to think of it, let alone speak of it. "Mine too," she whispered.

A rush of wings overhead made them both lurch to their feet, Saire preparing defensive spells and Hiezal reaching for his weapon. She'd been expecting one of those flying demon scouts they'd noticed circling their camp all day, perhaps swooping down on two unwary blood elves sitting on a ledge away from swift aid. Hiezal might have been expecting the same, but both relaxed when they saw the unfamiliar but recognizable form of Illidan Stormrage landing in the center of the encampment, where the blood elf and naga commanders had set their tents. For a moment the corrupted night elf's wings could be seen spread wide in landing, and then they tucked in and Illidan disappeared among the tents.

Saire sat slowly, staring at the spot where their new leader had disappeared. Word had spread through the camp that Kael'thas had pledged his service to Illidan, and that there was hope the demonic night elf might have a solution to the blood elf affliction. Saire trusted her prince, would die for him even, though her pride refused to let her openly admit that. But she felt a bit of doubt in his decision to pledge the blood elves to fight beside monstrous creatures like the naga, in service to a demon.

Hiezal remained standing, staring at the spot as well. For a moment there was silence, and then he drew in a ragged breath. "Want to come to my tent? I can think of one thing that'll occupy our minds, at least for a time."

Saire hesitated. She really had no interest in Hiezal as a lover. Handsome as he was, his arrogance combined with his disdain for people above his station made an unattractive combination. Not to mention her previous experiences with him had been less than satisfactory, few as they'd been. And they'd been few for a reason. Still, it was a distraction, and better than sitting here watching the sky and waiting for their leaders to come to some decision, while addiction gnawed at her relentlessly.

She sighed. "Fine. But I swear by Anasterian's rod if you're all for yourself in there this'll be the last time."

He chuckled and reached down to help her to her feet. "You're not the only one who's changed over the years. I promise, Mistress Saire, I've become a perfect gentleman. The ladies always come first with me."

. . . . .

Well there it was, the camp of his new allies, fellow servants of his master.

Nex stared down at the fortified perimeter, guarded by blood elf and naga sentries. Within the camp there was a military feel, soldiers drilling and refugees and watery minions that didn't look suited for combat shoved out of sight in disorganized sprawls to either end. Burning Legion scouts circled overhead, terrorfiends and succubi and a few other varieties of flying demon. All in all, the general feel was of a group preparing for battle.

The question was how to get inside that perimeter. The last time he'd visited a naga camp he'd been greeted in a less than friendly fashion, essentially taken before Vashj with a weapon at his back. On the other hand he'd saved a group of blood elf refugees, and with any luck they might be more well-disposed towards him, being closer to human. At least he wouldn't have to strain his language skills speaking that bastardized version of Kaldoreen and Thalassian the naga seemed to favor.

Decided, he made his way to the nearest blood elf sentry post, walking openly and trying to look unthreatening. To his surprise the blood elves responded by drawing their weapons, and one even loosed a crossbow quarrel at him that he narrowly dodged. The sentry post's apparent commander barked an order to hold, but the man didn't look particularly angry that one of his men had tried to kill the approaching human. Nex stopped, hands raised to show he wasn't interested in a fight, and stared at the hostile faces. Had his master ordered this cold reception?

"Se'varel dumires an kenthir, sev lokiv terathen!" the blood elf commander shouted in Thalassian. Nex stiffened; most of those words had been insults, and the rest had been less than friendly.

He fished out his Illidari stone and held it up in plain view. "Do you recognize this?" he demanded in the same language. "I'm a servant of Illidan Stormrage, and an ally to the blood elves."

A few of the blood elves laughed mockingly at the words, while others spat out a few curses and slights about their beautiful language being fouled by a muddy tongue. The commander glared at him, eyes narrowed. "There are no human allies to the sin'dorei," he said flatly. After a brief pause he beckoned. "Approach, human, but make no threatening motions." Nex did so. As he got close enough to hear the muttering blood elves, his confusion grew.

"I say we toss him in a cell to rot and poke at him whenever he tries to sleep. I have fond memories of magical cages."

"I'd say we hand him over to the women who were mauled by those filthy mudmen and let them have their way with him, except what blood elf in their right mind would want to rape a disgusting lokiv'sama'duscat?"

"We should kill him right now, Sergeant Thalnas. It's gentler than what his kind did for us."

What the hell were they talking about? Certainly, last he'd seen of the blood elves they'd been ordered on a suicide mission by Garithos, but what was this about humans raping blood elves, locking them away, and tormenting them? Had Garithos gone even further in his madness and actually tried to destroy the blood elf race, as he'd threatened?

"I don't know where your hatred of humans comes from, but rest assured the humans hate me as much. I serve Stormrage, and have severed all other ties of loyalty."

"I don't care," Thalnas said, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles were white. "A human should know better than to come to this camp, after what your kind did. I'll beg Prince Kael'thas to forgive me for the misunderstanding of killing one of Illidan's servants, and feign ignorance of the fact."

"I'll do the same of my master," Nex replied, resting his hand on his Blinkstrike. His reserves were nearly spent, his head pounded relentlessly, and while he'd used the Ankh to heal the worst of his injuries he was still in no shape to fight. Still, if he couldn't kill this fool he was pathetic indeed. Along the blood elf perimeter he saw weapons trained on him, and he smiled mockingly at Thalnas.

Before it could come to blows an officer riding a hawkstrider swooped in from the side and leapt off his mount, wielding a giant warglaive in one hand and a massive shield in the other. His plate armor was scarlet red, covering him from head to toe, and he wore an elaborate plumed helmet. Nex could feel the defensive magics surrounding the officer, and suspected they provided the man near total spell immunity. "What's going on here?" the officer demanded.

Thalnas saluted sharply. "This human came storming towards us, Lieutenant Redcrest, threatening attack. We merely prepared to defend ourselves."

Redcrest sneered at the line of blood elf soldiers, then flicked dismissive eyes towards Nex. "Yes, all of you felt threatened by this ragged human. More like you wanted a bit of sport with the damn mudman. I shouldn't have to tell you that soldiers who slaughter anyone who approaches, regardless of the situation, make terrible sentries." The officer paused. "Still, I hardly blame you." He switched to Common. "Identify yourself, human, and state your business. It best be pressing, for you're about to find yourself the prisoner of men who have no reason to love you."

Nex lifted the Illidari stone once more, continuing to speak in Thalassian. "I'm a servant of Illidan Stormrage, ordered to come before him with all haste. I know nothing of this animosity you feel towards humans, and I hardly care. Take me to Stormrage at once."

Redcrest's eyes narrowed. "A ragged beggar like you should take care how he speaks to his betters. You already run a high risk of finding a dagger in your back as you travel through this camp. If you truly are a servant of Illidan he might be displeased at your death, but he'll have trouble finding the culprit among a camp of people willing to look the other way."

"Then you had best see that doesn't happen. I wouldn't want there to be unnecessary bloodshed."

The blood elf laughed mockingly. "An arrogant way to beg me to protect you."

Nex Blinked directly in front of the blood elf, reaching out with his injured left hand to catch and hold the massive warglaive as Redcrest tried to swing it. "You misunderstand me," he said calmly. "I wouldn't want to have to kill allies in self-defense. Take me to Stormrage."

A sword tip pressed at his neck, wielded by Thalnas, and more weapons surrounded him, an instant away from skewering him in half a dozen places. Nex ignored them, staring into Redcrest's eyes without blinking. Eventually the blood elf officer scowled and turned away, tugging his weapon free. "Come, human."

Thalnas refused to lower his sword. "But Lieutenant," he protested, "this man attacked-"

"Do your damn duty, Sergeant, and let me do mine. I said _come_, human!"

Nex pushed aside the still-reluctant sword and fell into step flanking Redcrest on his right. Face set tightly with annoyance, Redcrest stalked forward, pretending to ignore him. Nex was just as pleased to be ignored. Hostile glares were directed at him from every side, but whenever anyone began moving in their direction his blood elf escort snapped at them to stay away.

Nex allowed himself to be led deeper into the camp, where the tents became more orderly and spaced in neat rows. He paused, however, his attention drawn by a crowd of the naga sirens and blood elf sorcerers in a clearing off to the right. When his eyes fell on the prisoner they were guarding he called for Redcrest to stop for a moment.

Within the same magically sealed cage wagon she'd prepared for Stormrage, Shadowsong paced frantically. After being a jailer for ten thousand years Nex thought she looked perfectly unsuited to confinement. Nex moved closer, curious. Her armor and weapons had been taken from her, and without them she looked surprisingly small and vulnerable. Still larger than him, and far more muscled, but not so formidable as she had been.

One of the blood elves held out his hand as Nex approached. "Halt right there," he commanded coldly. "What is this, Redcrest? Bringing humans around Master Illidan's prisoner?"

Nex fished the Illidari stone hanging around his neck from beneath his tunic and waggled it at the group. "Fuck off," he said. The blood elf's eyes widened with outrage, but he took one look at the stone and then reluctantly backed away. Unlike Thalnas or Redcrest, he apparently knew what it meant. The naga hissed at him, then ignored him completely.

Redcrest stepped up behind, a move that was not supportive but threatening. "What did I tell you about speaking to your betters, you ragged pile of scum?"

Hearing the commotion, Shadowsong halted her pacing and turned towards them. When she saw Nex her eyes widened with genuine shock. "You!" she snarled. "So you return to your master like a dog with your tail between your legs."

Nex smirked at her. "I believe that cage was meant for someone else."

She spat at him, achieving admirable distance but still falling short of where he stood. "We had no place to run to! You were the only one who could bring us back from this hell. You left us trapped, unable to return to Azeroth, when I could have eliminated your master and freed you from his service."

He shrugged one shoulder. "A man born as a slave may dream of freedom, but he doesn't know what it is. When it is offered to him he will flee from it and return to what is familiar." He started to turn away. "Best get used to that cage. I imagine there are people Stormrage hates worse than you, but not many."

As he walked away she shrieked after him. "I'll tell Illidan you betrayed him to me! You'll be sharing a cage beside me soon!"

Nex turned slowly, noting the way the blood elves and naga were staring at him. At his side Redcrest had tensed, glaring at him with deep suspicion. Then he deliberately shrugged one shoulder again. "He knows. Treachery is a coin he's traded in often, and his minions are no better. As long as I remain useful to him I live, and when my usefulness ends so do I."

"You seem almost pleased by that, human."

"Oh, I look forward to my eventual death with great anticipation. I predict that before too long you will as well." Nex turned his back on her for the final time and continued on, as she spat curses after him.

Redcrest hurried to take his place back in front of Nex, striding along with teeth gritted. "You may be treacherous, human, but I'm a man of honor. And when I swear that if Stormrage does not vouch for you I will kill you personally, you had best believe it."

. . . . .

From within the tent Redcrest spoke loud enough that Nex could hear. Likely deliberately loud, for his benefit. "Your pardon my Prince, Lord Illidan, my Lady. A human has arrived in camp bearing what he claims is Lord Illidan's seal, demanding to be brought before you. A singularly unpleasant creature, but I thought it best to inquire of you before detaining him."

Stormrage's voice wafted through the tent flaps, quieter but still audible. "Ah, he's arrived has he? I was about to send out an order for the sentries to kill him on sight. I trust you brought him here?"

When Redcrest next spoke he sounded almost eager. "I did, my Lord. Although if you wish, it's not too late to kill him on sight." Nex resolved to do something unpleasant to the elf in the future. If he bothered to remember.

Stormrage sounded almost bored. "No, I think it best to let him in. See him brought over to that corner there, Lieutenant. Then you may be about your duties."

"Aye, my Lord." The heavy tent flaps billowed out as Redcrest ducked outside. "In you go, human," he said with a scowl. Nex followed him into the tent.

From the inside it was far grander and more opulent than he had expected. A large rug completely covered the interior, and in the center of the space a massive table stood. Long, narrow tables occupied every side of the tent, laden with surprisingly fine delicacies and refreshments, and the entire space was filled with finely dressed blood elves and superiorly bred naga he assumed formed Vashj's noble retinue. The tent was crowded, but not uncomfortably so. Redcrest led him over to a corner of the tent. While it looked the same as the other corners, it had the feel of being most removed from the center of the tent where Stormrage stood at the table with Kael'thas Sunstrider and Vashj; all of the blood elves in that corner bore the look of minor nobility, barely important enough to be in this gathering.

Nex took his place in spot Redcrest pointed at without complaint, ignoring the hostile glances of blood elf officers and the amused contempt of the naga nobility. Stormrage turned as if the distraction had been an annoyance keeping him from more important concerns. "I will take up position here for the sixth and final portal," he said, pointing at the table which from this spot Nex couldn't see. He assumed it held a map of some sort. "It's the most defensible in the area, but much less secure than the other sites. To add to the risk Magtheridon will surely have long since recovered from the unexpected nature of our assault, and this portal lies closest to his stronghold, the ancient structure that was once a Draenic holy place. Under the Pit Lord's control it has come to be known as the Black Temple. Expect that in our assault on this last and final portal demonic resistance will be the most fierce, perhaps even overwhelming. Not only will Magtheridon feel desperate enough to send his strongest minions to prevent the total loss of reinforcements, but he still has a goodly number of fel orcs in his service. Expect a vicious assault from them as well."

"Prince Kael, as with the other portals I leave it to you as my Right Hand to secure the area and guard me while I'm occupied with closing the portal. My Lady Vashj, here I will ask you to abandon the outer perimeters and join Kael's command. Under his guidance you will coordinate the defenses. As a last resort draw back to the portal itself, and when I am finished with it I will turn my wrath upon the demons who assail us."

"Then on to the Black Temple?" Sunstrider asked quietly.

Stormrage inclined his head slightly. "South and east, cutting across the remnant of Terrokar forest at its narrowest and marching through Shadowmoon Valley. It is a long trek, and will be made longer by the constant resistance Magtheridon's forces will press upon us. And at its end the Black Temple awaits. It was a mighty structure even before the Pit Lord laid claim to it, and there can be no doubt he's further strengthened it. Not only will its defenses be well manned, but for his kind Magtheridon is a powerful wielder of fel energies. He may have discovered a way to activate the magical defenses the Draenei once utilized, and turn them to his own dark purposes. In any case a direct assault is suicide, and stealth will likely be fruitless. Laying siege to demons is similarly pointless, as they will not tire and starving them out would be near impossible."

Stormrage stared at the map for a moment longer, then abruptly straightened, waving a hand over the table. Whatever changes were made obviously impressed the assembled group, and a low murmuring broke out. "But there will be time enough to address the Black Temple when we've completed the near-impossible task of closing the portals. Human, come forward. You will want to see this."

Nex started in surprise, and as blood elves and naga turned to stare at him he strode forward through a crowd that opened up before him. Sunstrider and Vashj deigned to favor him with no more than brief glances before turning their eyes back to their master. Nex halted within sight of the table, but far enough away to be outside the circle of the most influential. Stormrage hissed in annoyance. "You will need to see minute details, human. Come to the table."

"As you command, master," Nex said, making his way to a point simultaneously as far as possible from both Stormrage and the blood elf and naga commanders.

He could now see that the map on the table wasn't lines drawn on paper, or a topographic representation formed of clay and the like. It was a semi-transparent representation floating an inch or so above the rough wood, obviously created by magical means. Nex supposed he could duplicate the feat with a bit of study and experimentation, but the scope and detail of it was breathtaking. The map showed seven of the island-continents all joined together, though some by little more than a tip, or a difficult path through enormous mountain ranges likely created by the collision of the giant continents. The map was most detailed on the middle-rightmost continent, the Hellfire Peninsula on which they stood, and on the continent to the south of it, labeled Shadowmoon Valley. Here fortresses, portals, demon emplacements, and topographic features were shown in exacting detail.

Other portions of the map were not even precise topographically, and the westernmost edges of the westernmost island-continents were hazy, as if their exact contours were not certain. "Here is Outland, as it stands now," Stormrage said. "As I told the others, the connection of seven of these continents is not natural, and following the destruction of Draenor all of these continents were far apart. The four western continents represent the efforts of the naaru, who inexplicably took an interest in Outland. They brought these four continents together solidly, and have been restoring the life to them as best they could. For our purposes, we'll leave the naaru to their own devices for the moment. We do not have the might, yet, to battle a demon lord on one side and the god-beings of the Light on the other."

"The eastern three continents were brought to connect to the naaru's four by Magtheridon's power. It was the Pit Lord's first step towards attacking the naaru and their Draenei servants and taking all of Outland for himself. None of these three continents directly connect with others of Magtheridon's three, and of the three the northernmost is the one most recently dragged in by the Pit Lord's power. He has not yet secured it by anything more than token forces, and from my limited inspection of it I have determined that it contains many unusual inhabitants. Before the Pit Lord dragged it to join the others, it was most likely out near the edge of reality, almost wholly immersed in the Twisting Nether. As such, it has been occupied by many denizens of the Nether Plane."

Stormrage turned to Nex, finger pressing down on a point along the eastern edge of that northeastern continent. "Your task, human, will be to assault a demon fortress I caught sight of on my brief inspection. To reach the continent you will have to travel west to where this continent connects with the marshlands the naaru control, then north through a continent composed of immense mountain jags created by the destruction of Draenor. From there you will travel eastwards to find the connecting path to this continent, and travel the length of it to reach the fortress." With a lazy finger Stormrage traced a U-shaped route that almost tripled the distance of a straight line over the gulf between the two continents. "I can give you the general best route to follow, but on the ground you'll have to do your own trailblazing. I don't anticipate it will be an easy journey. And when you reach the last location of the fortress it may not be there anymore. In fact, I do not think it will be an easy target to find, since the fortress is capable of floating: it is a dimensional ship, and as such can travel through the Great Dark Beyond to other worlds."

Nex blinked. "I wasn't aware that demons had ever made the effort to create such constructs. It seems beyond their preferred level of sophistication."

Stormrage frowned in annoyance. "Nevertheless it is there, and it is a prize I highly covet. I have heard it called Tempest Keep by creatures of Outland I have captured and interrogated. Claim this for me, and you will be richly rewarded."

Nex felt a sinking disappointment. He had looked forward to the thought of assaulting endless hordes of demons alongside his master's other minions. The notion of infiltrating this Black Temple and assassinating the powerful demons within had been particularly appealing. Of course, he was being given the task of assaulting a different demon fortress, which pleased him well enough. There was, of course, one issue. "I'm nothing if not confident in my own abilities, Master, but I hope you don't think me capable of capturing a demon stronghold by myself."

The corrupted night elf's lips twisted. "Don't worry, I make no assumptions where your abilities are concerned, human." Nex thought he heard a few of the blood elves titter, near the back where they wouldn't be as noticeable. Even a few of the naga hissed softly in amusement. Stormrage continued, ignoring the interruption. "I understand you were instrumental in aiding a group of refugees evacuating the Plaguelands. Those who escaped from a village known as Corona's Blaze. They owe you a debt, and are not part of Prince Kael's army. I see no reason why they should not join you. I doubt you will need much in the way of an army in any case: Tempest Keep is all but unguarded, and the greatest challenge you're likely to face will be in the form of a minor demon lord ruling the fortress. Capture that demon lord if you are able. I swore to the blood elves that I would help them feed their magic addiction, and a captive demon lord is a decent font of power."

Sunstrider frowned in displeasure. "If I may object, Master, I have several concerns about this. First and foremost, my people are on the verge of oblivion. Every refugee is vital to rebuilding the blood elf race. I object to a group of them, untrained and inexperienced, being put in the command of a human and sent halfway across Outland to assault a demon stronghold, guarded or unguarded. Another serious concern is this notion of feeding our hunger for magic from a demonic source. My people have no interest in steeping themselves in such corruption."

Stormrage turned his attention from Nex to the blood elf mage. "This is a vital task, my Right Hand, and in any case your people will be safer undertaking it than they would be trailing after us in our assault on Magtheridon's forces. As to the other, ask those dukra'sev'lokivs you have huddled abjectly in the middle of your camp how they feel about magic from any source, when the loss of the Sunwell has become an addiction so great it's tearing their bodies down and making them less than people." Sunstrider opened his mouth as if to offer further objection, then seemed to think better of it.

Nex didn't bother keeping silent about his own objections. "Not to sound like I'm complaining, but saddling me with a bunch of blood elf villagers who have little to no real experience or training, and on top of that hate me enough to attack me outright, seems destined for failure."

His master scowled in displeasure. "Are you saying you're not up to the task of leading them, human?"

Against his will he felt his own lips tightening in annoyance. "I'm saying that if I go try to take command of them, especially when it's known that their prince objects, they're going to end up trying to kill me. Having to slaughter half my forces is a terrible way to assume command."

Stormrage waved an impatient hand. "Prince Kael, see to it that the villagers of Corona's Blaze willingly accept this task, and the commander I have set over it. I would be displeased if anyone were to make an issue of it." Sunstrider, obviously irked, inclined his head slightly in acquiescence. "Very well, any other objections, human?"

"More along the lines of a few requests, Master. I wish to have at least a few trained troops, to assume the positions as officers as well as to oversee the proper training of my conscripts. I will also require supplies, weapons and armor and provisions."

"Take the issue up with Prince Kael's quartermaster. Kael, give the human one of your officer insignias, if you please, and be sure your people know to cooperate with him. Also detail ten of your Spell Breakers to serve him in this task." Sunstrider's neutral expression became rigid as he fought to hide his displeasure, but again he nodded. Turning, the blood elf prince grabbed an ornate medal from the jacket of one of his subordinates, yanked it free, and flung it at Nex. Nex caught it easily and pinned it to his ragged cloak. "Anything else, human?" Stormrage demanded, his tone suggesting his patience had reached its limits.

"Mounts and beasts of burden," Nex said.

"Take it up with my godsdamn quartermaster," Sunstrider growled, deigning to speak directly to him for once. "If we have anything not needed for _important_ assignments you're welcome to requisition them."

"Dragonhawks?" Nex asked hopefully. The blood elf prince went red and turned away.

"Enough of this circus," Stormrage growled. "Vashj, Kael, you and your officers know their assignments. Begin getting your troops in order and prepare your plans of attack for the first portal. I have meditations to enter into in preparation for my own task of shutting down the portals. Human, remain a moment after the others are gone. We have something to discuss."

"As you command, Master," Nex said. Sunstrider saluted elaborately, his officers following suit, and Vashj bowed low in an oddly sinuous motion. Her naga nobility remained still as stone, obviously their way of showing deference. Then naga and blood elves began drifting out of the tent.

"I'll not be sad to see the last of him," Sunstrider said to Vashj as the two commanders left. "A singularly unpleasant fellow, even for a mudman." He said it loud enough to be clearly heard, and Nex wondered what sort of trouble he'd have with his new army once word got around about just how their beloved leader felt about him.

. . . . .

When the tent was empty Stormrage turned to him and began without preamble. "You will need a new name."

Nex blinked. "Oh?"

"Yes. There are many mages of the Kirin Tor among the blood elf refugees. Many of those mages were in contact with their contemporaries the world over up to the moment they left Azeroth."

"Ah," Nex said, "the Journal."

"Precisely. The Magetower of Stormwind sent out a description of you and a detailed account of your crimes to contacts the world over. The blood elves were no exception. And even though they're exiles on a new world, betrayed by the humans who wish you dead, the fact remains that you still robbed a mage and murdered another."

"In point of fact, she robbed the mage and attacked _me_."

"Who cares?" Stormrage said coldly. He looked down at the magically crafted map he'd created of the cluster of continents attached to this Hellfire Peninsula they stood on. When he spoke his voice was offhand. "Your new name will be Lokiv. In demonic it means the Blade."

Nex struggled to suppress a laugh. It certainly did mean that, in demonic. It was also the first term by which elves had called primitive men, nearly back before humans were thinking beings in their own right. "A fitting name," he said neutrally. And it certainly was, though not complete. Even to this day lokiv could be literally translated as man, or human. But it was only a part of the term by which the elves had called men. Lokiv murte'aquel, in full. Creature of the mud. Or man elevated from the mud.

Stormrage turned to him. "The name amuses you?" he asked coldly.

"It's very clever," Nex admitted. And it was, for it was a three-pronged insult that he wouldn't have begun to understand, even speaking Thalassian as he did, save that he had read a elvish history of humanity back when he'd wished to know what it was to be human.

Lokiv had gone out of use as a descriptive term for men a long, long time ago, in favor of humanity's own word for themselves. In current Thalassian it was a derogatory term, used for the most contemptible of high elves. He would have understood that insult in any case, but it went deeper. Lokiv murte'aquel had been a derogatory term from the beginning, the elves looking down with disgust on the humans wallowing in the mud. Even when humans had raised themselves from it the term had changed only to mean "man elevated from the mud". But still most who used it did so in contempt.

And it went further still. For a long time it had been used to describe an elf with no redeeming qualities, but since the undead attack and the destruction of the Sunwell it had taken on a different meaning yet again. Still in the same general theme as the others, it described those poor high elves most affected by the loss of the Sunwell's magic. Torn by the hunger for it within them, their addiction had grown so rampant and uncontrolled that it had literally changed these elves physically, turning them into pitiable, broken creatures.

The elves reviled those who had collapsed into their magic addiction, and feared them with unreasoning terror. Not because these creatures were themselves contemptible and dangerous, though they were, but because they represented an end that every elf feared. They called these creatures lokiv, and in Common used the descriptor "Wretched".

So with one word Stormrage called him a primitive savage, a contemptible worthless creature, and a dangerous slave to magic, in all cases reviled and hated by any who had cause to encounter them. The name was not only subtly cruel, but also surprisingly accurate. If he had to admit it to himself, he shared all these attributes.

"A fitting name," he said again, "particularly for a traitor."

Stormrage turned from the map. "So you understand its connotations?"

"As well as you. And as well as the elves who will be using it to describe me."

Stormrage drew back his lips in a half smile, half snarl. "I'll be introducing you to your minions with that name. You're welcome to have them call you something else."

Oh yes, that would go well. Be debased by Stormrage in front of the elves he was to command, and then openly admit he knew exactly what the corrupted night elf had done. Since his command stemmed directly from Stormrage, to have it be known the man had named him so would immediately undermine his authority. Given the way the blood elves felt about humans these days, he'd be lucky if they didn't try to kill him. No, better to claim the name as his own, and to own it with the same twisted pride by which he called himself Nothing and meant it.

"I've already called the name fitting. Why would I use one that was less apt?"

Stormrage nodded. "Very well. Let's go introduce you to your army."

And for the second time in his service to the corrupted night elf, this time when it was wholly unneeded and they were only going a hundred yards or so, Stormrage teleported him somewhere.


	7. Interlude: By Night

Another busy week, another update pushing the deadline :). Let me know what you think about this chapter, since I don't quite know what to think about it.

Chapter Six

Interlude: By Night

Saire lay peacefully in Hiezal's arms, drifting in the narrow space between wakefulness and sleep. A lot of things were wrong, with the world and in her own life, but for the moment she was reasonably content.

True to his word, Hiezal had left her satisfied. He might have been entirely too smug about his competence in bed, but there was some merit to his boasting. With her prospects limited on this barren world, he made an adequate substitute for a real lover.

Perhaps she slept, or perhaps she merely lost herself in contentment, but she was roused by shouting from somewhere in the camp. The shouts were joined by others, and she heard pounding feet. She pushed Hiezal's arm off her shoulder and began hurriedly dressing, while he simply lay splayed across his cot, enjoying showing off his muscled form too much to seem worried about the clamor drawing steadily nearer. "Do you think it's an attack?" she asked, voice somewhat muffled as she drew her shirt over her head. She was somewhat sweaty from exertion, and would have liked to wash, but as it was she struggled to pull her shirt down as it clung to her shoulders.

Hiezal shrugged, still unperturbed. "It doesn't sound urgent enough for an attack," he said, finally standing and casually drawing on his underbreeches. "And it's coming closer. No sense worrying about it until we can hear what they're saying."

Saire _tsked_ at his laissez-faire attitude as she tugged on her pants, cursing their tightness even more than usual as they clung to her sweaty hips and refused to budge. With no romanticism whatsoever Hiezal gripped them around the waist and physically lifted her off the ground by the cloth, shaking her a few times, and the pants slid up the rest of the way. "You're welcome," he said, reaching for his shirt.

By the time they were dressed they could hear the messenger clearly. He was yelling "all refugees from the village of Corona's Blaze are to meet at the north parade grounds in five minutes' time!" Saire ducked out of the tent as Hiezal finished tugging on his boots, watching as the messenger ran past her, continued another fifty yards or so, then repeated his message in a shout that was becoming somewhat hoarse.

This world's too-bright sun had recently set, but a twilight near as bright as day persisted. Unfortunately it was all that persisted: for all the ungodly heat of day, the moment the sun disappeared the temperature plummeted, dropping almost twenty degrees within the first minutes, and twenty more within the first half hour. Saire heard Hiezal coming out of the tent and shivered ostentatiously, regretting leaving her crude but thick cloak at the tent she shared with her father. Her lover, seeing the shiver, gallantly settled his cloak over his own shoulders and drew it tight against the cold.

"Come on," he said, ignoring her indignant glare, "let's go see what the commotion is about." Without waiting for a response he started off in the direction she assumed the north parade grounds lay. She hurried to catch up, hugging her chest for warmth and glaring at her erstwhile lover's back.

Hiezal soon disappeared, his longer legs eating the distance, but it wasn't as far as she'd thought and she was soon in sight of her destination. As she approached the parade grounds she saw a cluster of nearly a hundred of her people were gathered around the imposing form of Illidan Stormrage. This was the first time she had seen him so close: his batlike wings folded around him like a cloak, hiding his demonic hooves, but his horns remained, rising threateningly from his forehead, and behind a thick blindfold of coarse black cloth fel green flames glowed, as if he had no eyes and fel energy burned in his sockets instead.

He was already speaking. Either the messenger had been slow, or Illidan had been too impatient to wait the promised five minutes. "-as proud members of the blood elf race, difficult tasks are proven easy. I have no doubt it will be the same with this. The keep will be largely unguarded, save for a minor demon lord you must capture."

Annoyed at having missed his first words, Saire pushed through the crowd towards the front, ignoring the annoyed glances and turning threatening glares on any who thought to push back. Hiezal, not quite as intimidating perhaps, or perhaps trying to push through a pocket of more hostile spectators, was having more trouble getting through the crowd a short distance away. She finally reached the spot near the front where her father stood listening. To her surprise she saw that Illidan wasn't alone in the center of the crowd; to his right, flanking the demon night elf, stood a human youth in ragged clothes who looked as if he hadn't had a good meal in his entire lifetime. Saire glared for a moment at the human, unable to believe his audacity at appearing in the middle of a camp full of people his race had tried to murder.

"It is far to the north, on an entirely different continent from this one. One that has not been explored, and that you will be the first of any race of Azeroth to walk upon as masters."

Saire tapped her father on the shoulder as she came up beside him. "What is this?" she whispered.

Theril turned, eyes bright. "Prince Kael'thas has entrusted us with the task of capturing a dimensional fortress known as Tempest Keep! He singled out Corona's Blaze specifically for this honor, after our heroic part in the battle to destroy the Scourge encampment on the northern shore of Lordamere Lake." His nose wrinkled in distaste. "You reek of sex, daughter. Have you no shame?"

Saire frowned, but not at her father's accusation. What heroic part had her village played? Those fit to fight had manned defensive posts that had largely remained untouched, most not even sighting undead throughout the day. More than half of the village had been ferried across to the island where the rest of the refugees huddled. But such thoughts fled from her mind as Illidan continued.

"Your loving Prince would not dream of demanding anything of you you were not willing to give, and he asks that only volunteers be selected for this glorious mission. It is an important venture, vital to the future of the blood elf race. Capturing this keep will secure for your people a home on Outland, and prosperity akin to what you knew in Quel'thalas before the Scourge came. But vital as it is, it will be less dangerous than marching against endless waves of demons, which we soon set out to do.

"Search your hearts, people of Corona's Blaze. Will you accept the task Prince Kael'thas has set upon your worthy shoulders, or will you huddle with the refugees while better elves secure your future?" From the surprisingly enthusiastic outrcy that followed, Saire figured most of her people had chosen the former. She hardly understood the cheers, though: the demon night elf's speech struck her has condescending, borderline insulting even. She noticed her father wasn't cheering either, though his face bore a sadly resigned look.

Illidan continued. "But do not think I send you blindly to this task, without a guide. I am entrusting you to the care of a capable and loyal servant who has never failed me. I suggested him to command this expedition, and Kael'thas strongly approved. May I introduce my faithful servant, Lokiv." With that he stepped aside, putting the ragged beggarly human at the forefront of attention.

Saire arched an eyebrow in scandalized amusement. A human named Human? It could be a coincidence, but far more likely the half-starved youth had chosen it as a pseudonym. If so he either possessed a self-abasing sense of humor or he had no idea what the word meant aside from its most literal translation. Especially since coming to this desolate land after their treatment by the humans, the term lokiv had quickly risen to the coveted position of the dirtiest insult one elf could use for another.

Her father stepped forward, shoulders squared. "My Lord, the refugees of Corona's Blaze would be pleased to undertake this task for you. And I guarantee we will accomplish it without the aid of this lowly creature. Give us the chance to win the favor of our Prince by our own merits, and let a blood elf lead the expedition."

The demonic night elf's bandaged eyes with that eerie green glow behind them bored into Theril until at last he quailed, shoulders hunching, and stepped back. Illidan swept that gaze over the crowd, and Saire shuddered when it passed her. "It is my will, and specifically the will of Prince Kael'thas, that you follow the guidance of my servant Lokiv. You will please your Prince greatest by following the orders your leader gives you to the best of your abilities."

Without any obvious communication between Lokiv and his master the human abruptly stepped away and raised his cloak to cover his face. A moment later Illidan vanished in a flare of green flame, leaving behind a whirlwind of dust flying in all directions. Saire ducked her head against the abrasive assault and raised one arm to protect her eyes, teeth gritted. Then the dust settled, and in the center of the group stood the young human. Illidan's faithful servant? He looked barely out of his teens, and sickly and starved besides. And _he_ had been set by her beloved Kael'thas to lead her people?

Something about the way he stood there calmly, waiting for the dust to settle, sparked her memory. Was this the human she had seen atop the cliff watching their battle with the night elves, days ago? Could it even also be the human that had aided their retreat by holding back the Scourge? The possibility of the first was high, since she doubted there were many humans on Outland. As for the other, there were plenty of ragged humans on Azeroth, maybe even some powerful enough to hold back a Scourge attack and defeat a Scourge champion such as the banshee she had seen him facing.

If it was the same human in both instances, what interest did he have in her people, that he was constantly hovering about them?

For that matter, if he was Illidan's faithful servant why had he stood by while the battle with the night elves raged?

After a few moments the human turned to her father. "You spoke for your people. You are one of the village Ithar'Eldrei?" Saire narrowed her eyes. So, for all his bluntness Lokiv at least knew enough of their people to give an Elder the title of respect he deserved.

Her father nodded stiffly. "The only remaining Elder. I am Theril Firedge."

"I see. Managing a village for as long as you have, you will probably be suited to serve as my quartermaster." The human reached up to pluck the fine pin off his shabby cloak and tossed it casually to Theril. Her father caught the pin, then stiffened. Saire stiffened as well, standing close enough to recognized it. It was an Eagle Guard commendation, one of the highest honors an officer of the elvish army could earn. And the human not only had one, but tossed it around as if it were a trinket. "Your first task is to seek out Sunstrider's quartermaster and requisition supplies for our journey. Not only food and water, but weapons and armor to equip your people. I assume you know roughly how many in your village are fit to travel and fight, man and woman: gather gear for all of them."

"And those too old, young, sickly or infirm?" Theril asked, still stiff. He clutched the commendation in his fist as if he wished he could hide it.

"They will remain behind in the protection of Sunstrider's army. If you have more than seventy villagers fit to accompany this expedition, you may leave the rest behind to assist those that remain."

"You are kind, to see to the needs of my people," her father murmured. Only Saire, who knew him well, could have traced the faint tone of irony.

Lokiv inclined his head. "When you've seen to the supplies, return to camp. Sunstrider will be sending ten Spell Breakers to me sometime this evening. Be ready to greet them, and inform their leader that he has the honor of being my second-in-command. Once he and his men are settled I would like for you to coordinate with him concerning the disposition of your villagers. Any who have skill with a weapon or spellcasting should be singled out for special assignment. If any among your village are skilled woodsmen or hunters promote them to leadership over a group of twenty or so scouts and equip them with bows, if available." The human then turned to look at Saire, who jumped slightly. "Likewise, if any among your village are-"

"Enough." Every head in the group whipped around as Hiezal strode forward to stand not ten paces from the human. "You can play at captain all you want, _lokiv_, but I ask since when do the people of Corona's Blaze serve Illidan Stormrage? The night elf claims he speaks the will of our Prince, so I say very well. Let's petition Kael'thas and see if he speaks truth."

Saire pressed her palm to her forehead wearily. Of course it would be him causing a scene, but not only for his elvish pride. It was hard to be Captain of the Guard of a village that no longer existed, and so during their retreat through the Plaguelands he'd served as her father's military second. He was used to being leader, but he'd already seen the position of quartermaster, and the far more coveted position of second in command, blithely given out. He likely feared under the human's leadership he'd have no position of authority at all.

Lokiv regarded the handsome elf expressionlessly, then shrugged one shoulder in a markedly offhand manner. "You're welcome to verify my position with Sunstrider. You, personally. As for the rest of your village, they will do as I command until you return to confirm my master's statements. I mean to leave within two days at the latest, earlier if we can be organized and equipped fast enough. I won't have that departure delayed over one malcontent's squabbling."

Hiezal's face darkened, and he shifted his hand to rest near the hilt of his sword. "And what if I tell my people to do nothing until we have solid orders from _our_ master?"

"A good question," the human said, still expressionless and with a completely neutral tone. "I suppose I could kill you and cow the others, if I wanted to waste a good soldier before the expedition's even begun."

"You truly think to threaten me?" Hiezal said with a sharp laugh. "We are blood elves, human. We survived the destruction of our homeland, and held back constant encroachments from the Scourge. Do not think we would go down so easily if it came to blows."

Lokiv curled his lip contemptuously. "I've always heard it didn't take much to convince a male elf to "go down" if it "comes" to "blows."

With a snarl Hiezal went for his sword. "Don't, you fool!" Saire began, "If it's true that Pr-" She cut off with a strangled gasp, and she wasn't the only one making exclamations of surprise and terror.

Hiezal was former Captain of the Guard for Corona's Blaze, and while he might not have been so proficient a swordsman as a Royal Guardsman or a member of the elvish army he still had an extra helping of elvish grace and speed, and was familiar enough with his weapon to draw it in an instant. Yet somehow the human was to Hiezal even before the handsome elf went for his sword, though there had been a good ten feet between them. Before Hiezal's weapon had fully cleared its sheath the human caught his sword hand and slammed the sword back in. His other hand, glowing with a terrifying bluish-black miasma of energy, snapped up to catch the stunned elf by the throat. Hiezal topped the human by a good three inches, and likely outweighed him by twenty pounds, but somehow the human lifted him off the ground with apparent ease.

Hiezel jerked once, sucking in a hoarse breath around the fist clutching his windpipe, and then he opened his mouth and screamed.

Saire found herself screaming as well, and she wasn't alone. Suffering from magic addiction for so long, it was physically painful to watch someone robbed of their mana. And Lokiv wasn't draining Hiezal's mana and taking it for himself, he was burning it away. It was like watching a paladin torture kittens. She could see the burning mana flaring through his smooth skin, creating blackened fissures as it tore at his handsome features. She was barely aware of crossing the distance between them, and more than surprised to find herself laying a restraining hand on the human's arm. "Please," she whispered. "Let him alone. His only crime is arrogance."

The human turned to her, and she abruptly found herself locking gazes with eyes so black and empty she felt like she could look through them for eternity and never catch a glimpse of what this man felt. Had she thought Illidan's blindfolded gaze terrifying? In its own way this was as terrible.

Then his eyes flicked away dismissively, and he released Hiezal. Saire rushed to catch her lover before he could fall limply to the ground. "I had no intention of killing him. Did you not hear me say I would not waste the life of any of my soldiers? Besides, I can appreciate the courage of a man who attacks with a hundred allies at his back. What is your name, blood elf?"

"Fuck you," Hiezal snarled, rubbing at a fissure across his left cheek where burning mana had escaped.

Lokiv's eyes narrowed, and Saire spoke hurriedly. "His name is Hiezal Nova. He was the captain of the Corona's Blaze guard."

"Was he? Well congratulations are in order, Nova. You are now captain of my bodyguard. Pick your five best soldiers for the detail."

"What makes you think I want to guard your worthless belly-crawling ass?" Hiezal demanded.

In answer Lokiv stepped forward and leaned down, grasping Hiezal by the shoulder. Saire tensed, but the human did not resume his attack. "Your prince promises you honor and service to your people, my master promises you glory and accolades. I've always been more pragmatic. I see the ache of magic addiction in you," he turned and panned his cold eyes across the crowd, "in all of you, people of Corona's Blaze. I'm no stranger to its gnawing pain. If you have no desire for honor or glory, come with me for a more selfish purpose."

The human began chanting, and Saire saw energy flow into him from nowhere, as if he'd drawn it from the very air around him. Far more energy than she could draw so swiftly. Then Hiezal stiffened and cried out again, not in pain this time but in surprise and relief, as Lokiv infused the power he'd gathered directly into the swordsman, overwhelming his feeble reserves and filling him with power. Lokiv released Hiezal, who slumped to the ground, and turned and swept his eyes over the crowd. "The only cure for your magic addiction is to feed it. Sunstrider will have told you as much by now. Within Tempest Keep waits a demon lord, as my master said. He failed to mention that a demon lord is a font of magic your entire village could feed from and be sated."

Saire's mana reserves were full, but still she found herself yearning to receive an infusion such as Hiezal had been gifted with. She could cast potent spells with such power, and the human had drawn it from nowhere as if it was nothing.

Lokiv continued. "Rest tonight, people of Corona's Blaze. Tomorrow our work begins. Eldre'Theril, you have your orders. I have a task to be about, but when I return I would like a report on your efforts."

It obviously pained her father to do it, but he nodded stiffly. "I will see to it."

"Then until tomorrow." Lokiv turned and walked into the crowd, which parted around him. There were angry stares, among that group.

But there were also hungry stares.

. . . . .

Nex was glad the meeting had gone well.

Oh sure, all the elves had glared murder at him, and one had tried to draw steel, but even with the endorsement of Stormrage and Sunstrider both he had half expected to be defending himself against attack from all sides by pissed off blood elves. Blood elves valued their pride nearly as much as they valued their lives, and humans had threatened to take both away from them.

Now that he had at least some hope he could lead his new army without them trying to tear him to pieces, he felt like he deserved to be geared more like a soldier and less like a sneak and an assassin.

"Where are the blacksmiths?" he asked an elf glaring at him from the entrance to a tent.

"Sattara innu'shinit, lokiv," the elf spat, ducking into the tent and closing the flap firmly behind him. Nex shook his head and continued on, ignoring the insult.

He had a feeling he'd been going the wrong way long before he reached the guard post keeping people out of the row of tents where the blood elf and naga officers slept. But when he slowed to ask the guards there they at least gave him the answer he wanted along with more insults and epithets. He turned and walked in the indicated direction.

A shout from the side turned him around, and he fell into a defensive stance with his hand on his Blinkstrike. But it was only a group of children playing some game. Half a dozen or so elf boys and girls, most no older than ten, were chasing a slightly older boy who was wearing a round mask. Nex caught only a peek of it before the boy ducked behind a tent, but it looked like an artist's crude rendering of a human face.

"Catch the human!" one of the blood elf children shrieked. From behind the tent came more yells as the fleeing "human" was evidently caught, or at least surprised. Then Nex's eyes widened in surprise as one of the pursuing children picked up a rock.

This was a game?

Pausing from his task, he strode around behind the tent to see that the game was no longer silly fun.

The boy huddled on the ground, crude mask crumpled against his face as he pressed his arms to his head to protect it from the flying stones. Nex was surprised at the viciousness of the childrens' play. He had seen nasty games before. And in their own way children, still learning virtue, could be far more cruel than adults. But he'd rarely seen it taken to this level.

The blood elf boys and girls formed a circle around the huddled child, no longer even making a pretense at a game as they hurled stones and jeered, calling names and taunting, even darting forward to kick or hit at the crouched boy. Nex had seen enough, and he strode forward. "You will stop this," he said loudly. A few of the children turned, but instead of scattering as youths normally would when their mischief was interrupted by an adult, they instead hurled the stones in their hands at Nex himself. Nex caught one, tossing it aside casually, and the rest flew wide, thrown by young arms still learning fine control of developing muscles. "I said you will STOP!" he repeated, and the last word he shouted, infusing magical terror into the howl so potent that the children immediately scattered, fleeing far, far away until most were out of sight and still affected by the spell.

The victim boy, too, fled the spell, but Nex darted forward and caught at his shoulder, holding him still as the magical fear waned. There was something odd about the boy's appearance, compared to the other children. His face was rounder, his build stockier, and his ears not quite as long or pointed. Nex guessed he was a half-elf, or at least had human blood in his ancestry. He looked to be ten or eleven years old, although Nex was a poor judge of age. Poor bastard, with that unlucky heritage. In this camp even a half-orc would receive a kinder reception. Although perhaps not much of one.

As soon as his magical terror left the boy he began to scream, struggling in his grip. "Let me go!" he shouted. "Filthy mudman, dirty dirtcrawler, let me go!"

Nex very subtly washed soothing psionic energy over the boy's mind. Coupled with the howl of terror and burning that fool Nova's mana earlier, his already strained mind was pounding with every heartbeat. He almost didn't know why he bothered. "Might as well shout insults in a mirror, boy," he replied. "Which of your parents was human?"

For a moment the boy glared at him, resisting the spell with the strength of his aggression. Then he looked away. "My mother," he muttered. "They've always been jerks, but since we came here it's been even worse." A tear dripped down his cheek, and when he looked up again he was even angrier. "What do you want?"

"I'm in need of a page," Nex said, surprising himself. He didn't, and even if he did why this sniveling creature? But he continued anyway. "Your duties would be light: to attend me when I have tasks that must be done, to run messages, and to see that my tent was raised in the evening and lowered in the morning. With me there will be no children to torment you, and any of the men and women under my command who attempt it would be severely punished."

The boy was looking at him closely, eyes narrowed. "You're that human who's going to lead an expedition, aren't you? The one the demon put in charge of the Corona's Blaze refugees. I watched him introduce you, and I watched you own that blood elf soldier when he made you mad."

Nex quirked his lips. "They call me Lokiv. What's your name, boy?"

The child hesitated. "Ilinar Montfere. But the other kids call me half-man. At least they do when they're being nice."

Nex laughed. "There's a strength that comes from taking a name others call you by in hatred and making it your own."

Montfere glared at him. "Is that why your name is Lokiv? You just find the worst thing anyone can call you and say it's your name?"

"Will you accept my offer, Montfere? We will leave tomorrow or the next day. And even if the journey is hard you might enjoy it more than remaining alone among the refugees, despised, following my master's army into the jaws of demons."

The boy hesitated. "Pages are usually nobly born boys in service to knights or lords, aren't they? I'm not nobly born."

"If I gave a damn I wouldn't be offering." Nex waved a hand impatiently. "I have business to be about, boy, so make up your mind."

After a few more moments in furious thought Montfere finally nodded. "Okay. Let's go."

Nex quirked his lips. "Seek out the Corona's Blaze camp and find an old man named Theril. Tell him you're my new page. Your only pressing duty is to see to it that I have a tent by the time I return to camp. It need not be large or fine, as long as it is serviceable. Acquire it, set it up, and wait for my return."

"Pages are taught how to fight," Montfere said hopefully. "Will you teach me how to fight?"

"Boy, I have an entire village to teach how to fight. You might as well join the drilling with the rest. Now go, and next time when I give an order don't stand around chatting and hop to it."

Montfere gave him a rude gesture, then turned and scampered off in the direction Nex had just come from. Nex continued on his way, wondering what had prompted him to take the boy on. It had been an idle notion, and he was certain he didn't need a page. Still, if it became too annoying trying to keep the obviously unruly boy in check he could always foist him off on Theril or one of the other officers. Doubtless the quartermaster would have use for an assistant to run errands.

He put the boy out of his mind.

. . . . .

The elf smith showed no sign of acknowledging his presence as Nex stopped in front of him. Even after Nex reached into his dimensional pocket portal and by all appearances pulled a full suit of heavy plate armor out of thin air the elf continued to hammer on the bar of pig iron over his anvil. Nex waited a few moments, watching the man move the iron back to the forge and pump the bellows a few times until the metal was a pale yellow-white, then bring it back to the anvil. Then, his patience run out, he stepped forward and caught the head of the hammer in mid-swing. It was a ten pound sledge, swung with the full power of the elf behind it and less than ten inches from the pig iron. Having struck the superheated metal hundreds of times already it was also hot enough to sear his skin; it would have done so, had his demon skin not protected him.

As Nex's seemingly frail hand halted the hammer with apparent ease, the smith finally looked up at him, appearing somewhat impressed. "What do you want, human?" he snapped.

Nex pointed casually at the armor. "I want this fitted to me."

The elf smith glanced at the armor, then looked away dismissively. "It's much too big for you. I've never seen a tauren in plate, but whoever was wearing that had more meat on him than most bull-men. I'd say it would be a waste to break down superior armor, but it looks as if it's been scoured of the holy enchantments that protected it. Where'd you find that, on a hero devoured by a dragon? That's dwarf-forged steel, and was once Lightforged as well unless I miss my guess." The elf tugged at his hammer, obviously impatient to continue his work before the iron was ruined by cooling.

Nex continued to hold it with apparent ease. "I want it fitted to me," he repeated calmly.

"Check the armory. Your proportions are similar to our striplings, I'm sure it won't be hard to find you a-"

Nex tugged easily on the hammer, and with an oath the elf was tugged forward over the blazing iron until their faces were separated by less than an inch. "I. Want. That. One."

The elf glared right back. "Well you're not getting it, you arrogant bastard. Breaking down a suit that large to fit you would take longer than forging you a new one. Either way you're talking about a week of hard work, longer if you want any sort of quality, and I'm buried under hundreds of commissions for Prince Kael'thas as it is."

Nex used his free hand to fish his Illidari stone from beneath his shirt, dangling it less than an inch from the elf's eye. Then he used a psionic attack to force his way into the elf's mind and trigger the primal portions of the brain that control obedience. In a brain as developed and individualistic as a blood elf's, that part of the mind was fairly small. "You have two days," he said, forcing the smith to meet his gaze for several more moments. Then he shoved the man away. "And I want quality, the best you can manage."

The elf stared at him with the flummoxed gaze of a bull struck between the eyes, then glanced down at the pile of armor. Nex could almost see his arrogant mind trying to rationalize obeying the magical impulse. "Never seen destroyed Lightforged steel," he muttered, tossing the pig iron aside, "let alone worked with it." He beckoned. "Come on, then, let's get your measurements. I'll have to get the Greenrage brothers and maybe even old Bowspirit in on this."

"You'll all be recompensed," Nex said, shrugging out of his ragged cloak and coat as the smith dug out a rope marked at regular intervals. "And if anyone balks or tries to slow the work, whether it be your fellow smiths or Kael'thas Sunstrider himself, you bring the matter to me."

The elf snorted. "Human, if Prince Kael'thas tells me to skin you and turn your hide into a cloak, I'd do it. You'd best hope he doesn't object to this."

"He won't." At least Nex hoped he wouldn't. He had to give Sunstrider one thing: his people put him on a pedestal and worshiped him like paladins worshiped the damn Light.

The smith finished taking his measurements and immediately began dismantling the armor. Nex left him to it, turning back to the camp. It would be nice to have a suit of armor, now that he had an actual army to lead. Even nicer that the plate was finer than even the elf smiths could forge, although it had been finer still before he'd scoured the enchantments from it. All to the good, anyway; wearing Lightforged steel would have been a constant agony. Not too big a loss since he had his own enchantments he could put on it, and if not as powerful as the ones it had had, at least they would be better than most anything else he could get his hands on. The plate looked impressive, too.

He found himself whistling as he made his way back to hear Theril's report. He didn't _have_ to wear Lightfinder's armor. He just was going to.

. . . . .

Theril had a large tent. Which was good, since at the moment it held six people.

"You?" Nex asked with a smirk as he saw who Kael'thas had sent to lead the Spell Breakers. He'd wanted to pay the man back for his rudeness, and he couldn't think of a more fitting punishment than forcing that man to serve under his command.

Redcrest glared at him. "I'm glad at least one of us is happy about this assignment."

Theril looked between the two of them in confusion. "I take it you've met Lieutenant Velansar Redcrest, Master Lokiv?"

"A singularly unpleasant man," Nex said, with somewhat vicious enjoyment. "But I don't need to be friends with my second in command. Who are these others?"

"Hiezal Nova you know. He has come with a list of soldiers suitable for the task of guarding you."

"I take it you accepted my offer, then?" Nex asked the arrogant swordsman.

Hiezal scowled. "It's an officer position. Never worry, human, I'll keep you alive."

Theril continued. "My daughter, Saire Firedge," he said, pointing to a strikingly beautiful elf woman Nex recognized from more than one occasion. She was the bitch who had planted a flamestrike on top of him when he was fighting Scourge to cover her village's retreat. She'd also been in the battle to rescue Stormrage, and contributed to events playing out as they had. For both of those reasons Nex had little reason to like her. "Carrying on my family's tradition of powerful magecraft," Theril finished

"Yes, I've felt her skill firsthand," Nex said dryly. "That leaves the fellow in the green cloak. A woodsman, I take it?"

The blood elf nodded. He didn't seem as hostile as the others. In truth, of all the assembled elves only he looked completely relaxed, slouching against a chest with only a heavy knife at his belt. "Hardal Dor'ane, at your service. I served as a scout under Lady Windrunner for ten years, and since then have been a hunter and trapper in the woods of Quel'thalas longer than you've been alive."

"Sylvanas Windrunner?" Nex asked, thinking of the banshee he'd fought.

"No, sir. Her elder sister, Alleria, who led a command of high elves in service to the Alliance during the Second Orcish War."

"I see." Nex turned back to Theril. "You've done well, Elder. It is good to see you're already organizing the army as I'd wished."

Theril shrugged. "I can't take all the credit. Lieutenant Redcrest was quick to pick out the best talent among our villagers and find ways we could be useful. I believe you wanted to know how many villagers we could spare, and how many if any had useful combat skills."

"Let's hear it."

"One hundred and thirteen people survived the evacuation of Corona's Blaze and made it to Outland. Of them, I judge perhaps eighty could serve. This includes women and striplings."

"I've encountered dangerous women in my time. And I know for a fact striplings can be dangerous." Nex hesitated. "As I said, seventy will suffice. Pick the ten you feel are least suited for the journey and leave them behind to watch the others."

"As you wish."

The old elf might have been mocking him with the words, but Nex didn't care. "Did you get the supplies we'll need from Sunstrider's quartermaster?"

"I did. The armaments plundered from the night elves are pretty much ours for the taking. Prince Kael'thas equips his army well, and the naga came similarly armed. We have plenty of bows, glaives, and other weapons. They all had good armor, too, although much of it will need to be mended."

Interesting. He wondered if Stormrage had had a hand in seeing he was given the weapons of the night elves he'd brought to Outland, essentially condemning them to death. Either way Shadowsong's people had possessed superior equipment. "Can you train melee soldiers to the night elf weapons?" Nex asked Redshield.

The Spell Breaker snorted and jerked his head towards his massive warglaive, which was resting in one corner. "The glaives are different from what I know, but they're surprisingly effective. Same with the other night elf weapons. They're more suited to agility than strength, since women wielded them, but given that the man-handed night elf bitches are freakish big and strong they should be perfect for our people."

"Good. Dor'ane, Redshield, Theril. Tomorrow I want you to sort out our weapons and decide which of our people are best suited to which weapons. Dor'ane, you will lead the scouts and bowmen. Redshield, you and your Spell Breakers have charge of training the melee fighters. I intend to spend as long each day drilling in weapons and coordination as we spend marching, so don't dismiss any of our available soldiers because of lack of skill. By the time we reach Tempest Keep I want soldiers who can fight."

"Should be possible," Dor'ane said with a shrug. "I wouldn't task a novice bowman with shooting an apple off a kid's head, but if we have a few weeks to practice they might be able to manage coordinated volleys."

Nex nodded. His head felt like it was going to burst in two. "We'll continue this tomorrow. Theril, this is going to be a long journey. I'm entrusting you with seeing we have adequate provisions. Go back to the quartermaster first thing in the morning and get whatever you can in the way of wagons and beasts of burden. See if you can manage to get us hawkstriders or dragonhawks while you're at it."

Redcrest laughed. "Don't get your hopes up, human. Prince Kael'thas gifted me and my Spell Breakers with hawkstriders when he assigned us to you, heavily hinting that no other mounts would be forthcoming."

Nex stared at him flatly for long enough that the well-muscled elf looked away, then he turned to Theril. "See about the wagons and beasts of burden. The rest we can live without, but we'll need those."

"I'll do what I can," Theril said, sounding doubtful.

"Good. Sleep well then." Nex ducked out of the tent, then after a moment ducked back in. "By the way, where's my page and the tent I ordered him to set up?"

. . . . .

Montfere had done his job, after a fashion. The tent looked like it had once housed disease victims in a shanty town, with almost more patches than original cloth. And the way the boy had set it up made it look as if a drunken orc had fallen on top of it then staggered away.

It looked surprisingly comfortable. He'd been in worse condition than this before succumbing to exhaustion, but not too often. More often of late.

"There's a surprise inside!" Montfere called as soon as he saw Nex approaching. The boy leapt to his feet and pulled open the tent flap, almost hopping from one foot to another as Nex slipped into the tent. The boy followed.

Inside the tiny space was a cot of rotted wood and equally rotted canvas, covered by a meager blanket. On top of the cot was a paper-wrapped bundle that looked far too nice for the dismal surroundings. "A gift from the Blood Prince," Montfere said, eyes wide to show how impressed he was.

"Out," Nex replied, waving his page out of the tent.

The boy hesitated. "I heard, um, it's customary for pages to share the tent of their master so they're always ready to be of service." Montfere's lips drew downward slightly, and Nex wondered just how the eager the boy was to share the tiny tent with a despised human in sworn service to a demon. Montfere continued quickly, as if eager for a way out. "At least, that's what I've heard."

Nex waved him away again. "I'll not have cause to use the tent often...I don't sleep much. Guard the entrance for an hour, and then the tent is yours for the night. In future, unless I have a specific need for privacy you are welcome to the tent, and when I do have a use for it you may guard the entrance. Do you have a weapon?" Montfere shook his head, eyes huge. Nex drew out his last remaining heavy-bladed knife and, after a moment's thought, rummaged in his pack and drew out a fitting sheath. "It's enchanted for demonslaying, and is well made. Keep it in good repair."

"I will, My Lord," the boy said, taking the sheathed weapon with a sort of eager hesitance.

"Good. Guard my tent entrance until I relieve you." Montfere saluted and disappeared through the tent's flaps. Nex tied them shut after the boy was gone, then turned back to the package the Blood Prince had left him. After investigating it for possible traps, he tore the flimsy paper away.

Within was what looked to be a complete officer's uniform, including a fine half-cape. It had all the embroidery and braids he'd seen on the uniforms of Sunstrider's highest subordinates. There was also a note:

_ "Human,_

_ Lord Illidan informs me that I have you to thank for_

_ restoring the Shard of Asteros to its rightful owners the elves,_

_ after the powerful heirloom had rested for centuries in the_

_ hands of usurpers._

_ As a token of my gratitude I believe a gift is in order._

_ Seeing the shoddy state of your apparel, and as you have_

_ officially been inducted into my army as an officer over elvish_

_ irregulars, I thought a uniform would be appropriate._

_ My best wishes in your current endeavor,_

_ Kael'thas Sunstrider, son of Anasterian Sunstrider and_

_ Blood Prince of the sin'dorei."_

Nex tossed the note aside and immersed it in magical flame, burning it to ash before it could reach the ground. Arrogant bastard. Couching insult inside fair speech in a way only the well educated and nobly born could. Still, his clothes were getting rather shabby, and assuming the uniform fit well it might give him a bit of legitimacy in the eyes of his blood elf troops.

No way in hell he was wearing the cape, though.

After staring at the uniform for a few moments, trying to think about a dozen things at once while his headache pounded, he began desultorily checking it for poisoned needles and the like; insults weren't the only things you could hide in lavish gifts. He doubted Sunstrider was tasteless enough to try to assassinate him, but caution was only wasted effort until it wasn't.

Which was why, tired as he was, he ignored the rickety cot which even as uncomfortable as it looked was a temptation, and instead moved stealthily over to the doors of his tent. Assuming he could trust Montfere to guard him without peeking, he could travel around the camp while everyone thought he was sleeping. And if anyone did want to kill him, he would conveniently be somewhere else. Reaching out he found Montfere's mind and soothed it, dampening the boy's curiosity and alertness while he untied the tent flaps and slipped outside. It only took a few moments and he was in his tent's shadow, moving low to the ground towards the larger tent that housed the Firedges. Behind him Montfere sucked in a breath as Nex released the spell: to the boy it would seem as if he'd drifted off for a moment.

A light shone within the tent, casting the shadow of one person sitting where he remembered the beds being when he'd been in the tent earlier. Nex cursed under his breath; he'd hoped the officers would still be making plans. Still, he might yet hear something interesting, so he settled back and waited, savagely battling the trance that kept trying to creep up on him. Finally his second sight made him aware of a figure approaching the tent, a lithe female form. She slipped in through the flaps, murmuring a greeting, then moved to sit on the other bed.

It was silent for a moment, and then an older male voice spoke. "Have you checked on our fearless commander?" Theril, he assumed.

A quiet, calm female voice responded. Saire. "That half-elf boy Ilinar who the human took as his page is outside his tent, standing guard. A few words were enough to affirm that Lokiv is within and doesn't wish to be disturbed."

"I trust you'll speak to the boy. I doubt the human will take Ilinar into his confidences, but as page he may pick up tidbits others wouldn't be privy to. It will be useful to have the boy as our spy."

"I'll see to it, father. But as you say, I doubt Lokiv will be speaking anything of interest in front of a boy's prying ears."

"You never know. Still, perhaps we need ears within the human's tent." Nex's ears pricked at that.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know quite well."

"No, I don't think I do. What I remember is my father asking me if I have no shame, less than two hours ago. What I remember is stinking drunken oafs with more fat than brains leering at me through thin bars and telling me I'll live to see all my people killed if I suck some cock. I think I know that the thought of a human touching me makes me want to retch, and no true father would ask that of me."

"It would not be the first time I've advised you to use your charms for your own benefit. Our people's lives are in our hands. I could trust they were being used wisely when the chain of command went from Prince Kael'thas to us directly. But do you really think a chain of command stemming from that demon-corrupted night elf and passing through a _human_ before it reaches us is going be any good for our people?"

"And how are we supposed to be certain of anything, even if I do it? The human remains aloof, pleased to give orders but providing no reasoning for them. He keeps to his own counsel, and doesn't bother to share his thoughts with us. Would any of that change if I sacrificed all my pride and became something I despised?"

"For the good of our people, you must try. We must become a part of his counsel, and at least get him to hear our words."

"Like hell. If you want information so much why don't you go offer to service him?"

"Calm yourself, daughter. You wouldn't be the first to reach a man's ear by waiting in his bed."

There was a long pause. So long, in fact, that Nex began to wonder if one of them had left. Finally the female elf spoke. "Please, father, say this is a joke and don't mention it again."

"Again I say, daughter, it would not be the first time you've made use of your charms to advance your purposes."

When the female spoke next she sounded angry. "There's a major difference between pretending to enjoy the groping hands of wrinkled old patrons and being befouled by a mudman who reeks of demonic magic!" Nex quirked his lips at that. The woman was absolutely right.

Theril's voice came harsher. "You'll have to endure it. Corona's Blaze didn't survive cold and death only to march to our doom with a human at our head. If Hiezal can stand having his magic burned away even as addiction tears at his insides you can endure a few minutes of pillow play to discover what Illidan means to do with us."

There was no answer, and a moment later he heard the slap of cloth as the tent flap was flung aside, then the light but forceful tread of Saire stalking away in anger. His second sight informed him she was walking away from where his tent was. So she'd either decided to refuse her father's demand, or she was working herself up to do it.

Or she was circling wide to come at his tent from a different direction. Who knew?

Nex leaned back away from the tent, eyes narrowed. So, seduction. It was said that in political maneuvering high elves were second to none, having honed their skills for centuries to more and more subtle plots. They were not afraid to use every means available to them, and carnality was no exception. The expression "politics makes for strange bedfellows" had originated in Silvermoon, and it was not a metaphor. At least not as the elves used the phrase.

Nex was no fool. He'd had plenty of experience with seduction, enough to know it for what it was: an attack. And a particularly insidious attack, for it preyed upon men where they were weakest and least wary. Fighting past such an attack required incredible discipline and more than a little training, for you were forced to battle yourself as much as your foe. Not just any aspect of yourself, either, but the most primal and overpowering of urges.

The pain in his head reached a new height, and with a sigh Nex stalked across the camp to his filthy disaster of a tent. He snuck around to the back and flicked up the cloth, easing inside. In the quiet darkness he shrugged out of his pack, cloak, and coat and sprawled across the rickety cot, ignoring its alarming creaks of protest.

He had an hour of his regenerative trance to endure, utterly helpless in a camp of blood elves who despised him. As if assassination wasn't bad enough, now he had to worry about the affections of a beautiful blood elf being pressed upon him as well.

With any luck he'd wake up dead.

. . . . .

It hadn't been hard to convince the boy to spy for them. Ilinar was of that age on the cusp of adolescence where beautiful women were held in awe, and it hadn't taken more than a few words sweetly spoken to get him on her side. She was confident she could lead the youth around by the nose if need be, and his services would be useful in keeping tabs on Lokiv.

Though he'd been ordered to let no one disturb his master, Ilinar gave no protest as Saire ordered him around the side of the tent with his eyes closed while she quickly stripped down to her undergarments and, clothes in hand, slipped into the human's tent. She was no prude, but still wasn't particularly thrilled at having to do so where any in the area could see. The thought of trying to quietly undress inside the tent with a filthy human sleeping mere inches away made doing it outside more bearable. As she entered a flash of movement at the corner of the tent hinted that the boy might have waxed bold enough to sneak a peek: whatever happened, she resolved to box his ears thoroughly upon leaving the tent. Curiosity was adorable, but there was such a thing as modesty. And boys were best served learning young, before the arrogance of maturity made them impossible. Hiezal was a prime example.

Within the tent all was black. She froze as she heard a sound like a groan, strangled as if through clenched teeth. For long moments there was nothing but silence, and then a panting noise, and another groan, followed by a low, drawn-out wail that seemed to last for an eternity. After the wail was once again replaced by terrified panting she summoned the courage to create a small magical light.

The tent was tiny. It was hard to appreciate from the outside, but inside she realized she was less than three inches from where the human sprawled on a truly hideous cot. If seducing the creature wasn't enough to make her want to retch, the thought of doing it on that moldy atrocity would have done it.

Lokiv was not at rest. Or if he was, he was not at peace. His eyes were open, dark wells that sucked in the light and returned nothing, but they darted sightlessly. His head jerked from side to side, noises of pain and terror escaping through clenched teeth, and his limbs thrashed, fighting with a ragged patch of blanket.

Ooh. Prince Kael'thas had given the human a sub-commander's uniform! Saire edged forward cautiously to where it had been flung aside and knelt atop it, feeling the soft cloth on her legs and running her fingers over the fine scrollwork and stitching. A pity to waste such a beautiful thing on a creature like Lokiv.

Of course, the same might be said about herself.

She knelt there in nothing but her underclothes, which for comfort as well as usefulness were scanty at best, within touching distance of the man her father wanted her to seduce. She couldn't think of a more vile thing she'd ever done, and she had risen quickly through the ranks of the Quel'thalas Arcane Academy as a favorite of many disgusting old mages with far more imagination than power.

How could her father ask this of her? She was shivering, and not just from the cold, though it was very cold in the tent. She was willing to fight for her people, to die even. But could she truly do this? She should wake him, get it over with, but she hadn't the courage.

So she knelt, half-naked, on a fine uniform, watching a tormented soul thrash and sob, dreading the moment he woke but too stubborn to flee the tent.

. . . . .

_His mother gripped his wrist tightly, pulling him along towards the deepest parts of her caverns._

"_What is it, Mistress?" he asked, pulling away. He was scared, more scared than he would care to admit. The last time his mother had told him she had a surprise he had been trapped, starving and dying of thirst, with a fel hound runt snarling and slavering at the entrance to the tiny niche he had backed into when his mother had first set the beast on him. He had consumed shadows, as he'd learned from the void demon, but just as he was learning to use the magic to ease those wants caused by hunger and thirst the demon dog had snapped the whiplike tentacles protruding from its head into the niche, wrapping around his wrist and throat. It was an attack, but not a physical one; he had screamed all the same as his mana was drained away, the fel hound feeding from the shadows he consumed._

_He had thought he would die, in some ways he had hoped he would, but though as the hours passed his body grew more wasted, his mind more feverish, he did not die. It had been a dark time, and he could not remember much of it anymore, but he had not eaten or drank since then. And he had in the end learned how to drain mana, as the fel hound did, and so gain the power he needed to slay it._

_He doubted he would be lucky enough to face a fel hound this time, or any of the other demons which had tormented him within the unforgiving walls of the Pit. It would be a new demon, and one which would doubtless drive him to the point of death, in agony every moment, until he learned how to slay it._

"_What is it?" he asked again. "What will it be this time?" His mother did not answer, but her pace quickened. He tried to tug away, and her grip became painful. "Please, Mistress," he said, his voice choked with tears. "Let it be another imp, another being of shadows, even another demon dog. Just don't force me to face something I don't know how to defeat. It's been barely a week since you let me out last time."_

_His mother stopped suddenly, and turned to him with a dark smile. "Don't worry, Nothing," she spat the word out, as if it was an epithet. "You won't be in danger for your life this time. In fact, I think you will quite enjoy it."_

_He knew nothing of trust in his young mind, and even less of love. He had learned long ago that his mistress, his mother, was as trustworthy as any demon, and as capable of tender feeling._

_His mother stopped before the greased chute that was the entrance to the Pit. He gave her a last beseeching look, which she ignored as she pushed him through the narrow opening headfirst. He cried out and scrabbled at the walls, trying to halt his descent, in terror at what would meet him within. At the bottom he held his arms over his head fearfully, dreading to feel at any moment teeth ripping into his arms. But there was nothing. He raised his head fearfully._

_He knew the creature before him must be a demon. It had wings, and horns, and cloven hooves. And yet unlike the horrid ugliness of most demons this creature was lovely. It had a woman's shape, bare of any clothes. The only woman he had ever seen before, unless some of the demons he had been thrown to were female, was his mistress. But unlike his mistress, the sight of this creature stirred feelings in his young body, things he had never felt before. Thoughts he had never thought before._

_The creature smiled from perfect lips, revealing delicate fangs. "Hello child," it said in a sultry voice. "Come here." She extended a slender, pale hand, palm first._

_Nex shook his head fearfully and backed up the chute as far as its slippery surface would allow._

_The creature laughed, a gentle, throaty sound. "Come now, child. You're going to enjoy this."_

_He shook his head and tried to climb up the chute backwards. The creature laughed again and started towards him slowly, swaying seductively. He could now see she had a tail, which slapped against the bare skin of her hindquarters with a sharp crack. She giggled, a strangely girlish sound coming from that demonic throat. "Quit squirming, child. I won't bite."_

_Her hand wrapped around his throat, and he tried to scream._

_That had been the beginning of two years of torture far worse than anything he could ever have imagined. The demons before had caused him agony, and terror he could not run from, and despair he could not shake. Pain with fire and with cold and with sharp cruel instruments._

_But this creature who called itself succubus scarred him in ways neither mind nor body could heal. For two years he had been her plaything, slave to her whims, forced to the vilest acts a twisted mind could conceive. It was only after he had purged himself of even the smallest trace of physical attraction for the female form born by the creature before him that he could finally draw upon the void within himself. He'd felt his first true feelings of pleasure in two years as he burned the demonic magic from the succubus's body, slowly, even as she sobbed in agony and ecstasy and burning fissures opened within her flawless skin. Then he took the whip the succubus had tormented him with since the beginning and wrapped it around her throat, tugging it back and forth until long after the creature was dead._

_Though at that time he had purged himself of the weakness of lust, ridding himself of yet another unwanted human need, his time with the succubus featured prominently in his nightmares whenever he lost his battle with exhaustion and succumbed to the regenerative trance. As it had been, so long ago, he was a boy once more, terrified and helpless, forced to unthinkable acts with the sound of the lash ringing tauntingly in his ears as the demoness crooned her seductive trance. And just as it had been in reality, in his nightmares there was no reprieve, no mercy, as his own innocence was used against him, his own body betrayed him._

_Never again._

. . . . .

Saire jerked in fear as the human gave a strangled cry, far more lucid and piercing than his muted grunts and groans. Lokiv surged to a sitting position on the cot, one hand on the dagger at his waist, glaring about sightlessly for a moment until his eyes fell upon her.

She flinched back from that stare, and for a moment was certain he was about to draw the knife and cut her to pieces. Then the panic and terror in his eyes disappeared with frightening abruptness, and his face smoothed to expressionlessness. He took one long, slow look up and down her body, showing not the slightest bit of lust or even interest. Saire shivered, feeling more wretched than if the miserable creature had groped her. She wished she were anywhere else, doing anything else. Why had she agreed to do this? Hadn't she known how terrible it would be?

No. Not even in her worst nightmares could she have imagined it would be this awful.

Then Lokiv's eyes moved up and met hers, unwavering. "I gave orders not to be disturbed."

Saire wanted to grab her clothes and run. Instead she struggled to smile, straightening her shoulders and parting her legs slightly to show off her assets to best effect. "A good page knows when his master would want him to ignore such orders."

"It would appear I don't have a good page, then." The human's eyes never wavered from hers. Not once. Then Lokiv gave a low sigh and leaned back on the cot, making it sway precariously. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his left temple wearily. "Leave, mage. I never asked you to come and humiliate yourself, so quit staring at me with such disgust and accusation."

Saire fought to contain her anger. The almost casual way he'd looked her up and down without showing a flicker of interest had been far more humiliating than if he had openly leered. She wasn't accustomed to offering herself like this and then being told to go away. She wouldn't go so far as to say she wanted his attentions, but his reaction to her seduction had irked her. "If I'm not the type to draw your interest," she said stiffly, "maybe I can go fetch Hiezal Nova or one of the Spell Breakers and see if they're more to your liking. Or maybe your tastes go in a different direction...is that why you decided to take on a page?"

At that Lokiv laughed. It had little of humor in it, although plenty of mockery. His black eyes were like endless pits into nothingness, boring into her. "Poor girl, throwing a tantrum and spewing insults when she doesn't get her way."

Saire's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"

"You strip down to the barest extremes of modesty and present yourself to a man, sitting there waiting for him to do the rest, and you call that _seduction_. Doubtless it has served you well in the past, when the men you try to lure are already slavering to get into your bed."

Saire stiffened further, again fighting the urge to cover herself. "Girl, you call me? You look as if you've had barely a score of years, while I've lived closer to twoscore and still call myself young. Perhaps your hesitance comes from inexperience, _boy_."

The human laughed again, and goosebumps raised on her flesh that had nothing to do with the night's chill. To her ears the noise sounded calculated, as if Lokiv felt nothing but was feigning laughter to toy with her own emotions. "To the art of seduction you come a novice, mage. Spend two years helpless to the tender mercies of a succubus and then try to seduce me again. And again you will fail, for to kill a succubus you must be immune to their charms, and I have killed many, many of the creatures in my day."

Saire broke her eyes away from that relentless stare and, finally shivering, dressed quickly. He was right, it was time to stop humiliating herself and go. Why was she even complaining at being spared the horrible encounter she had dreaded? She was about to push through the tent flaps and escape the combined humiliation and discomfort when Lokiv spoke once more. "Stay a moment, Firedge. We need to speak on something."

Saire paused at the entrance to the tent and turned back, sudden worry clutching at her throat. What if he didn't mean to let her leave. She forced bravado into her words that she didn't feel. "Have you changed your mind? Perhaps you've missed your chance to have me, now. Perhaps humans become excited by humiliation, but you'll find-"

Lokiv cut her off calmly. "You are one of the only mages in my camp, and Theril is busy with other duties. I did not ask you earlier, when speaking to the other officers, but perhaps I should have. I would like you to search through the refugees of Corona's Blaze and find any you think possess the aptitude to become your pupils. We will be long on the road, and perhaps you might train them to the arcane arts enough to be useful."

Saire sniffed. Again she was relieved that sex wasn't on the human's mind, but now that they were off the subject her pride was pricked, and she had little desire to be cooperative after being so spurned. "What if I refuse?"

Those eyes that always held hers and never once looked at her body continued to bore into her. "Then you join the ranks of melee soldiers, or perhaps become a scout. You've held a position of leadership over your people for a while now, but my officer positions are filled and in any case I have no need for an officer who places pride over common sense."

She scowled. "I haven't-"

The human talked over her relentlessly. "Stormrage may have claimed this task will be easy, but I very much doubt it will. We'll be traversing strange and alien terrain, and mages would be useful. Imparting your skills to a select few apprentices would greatly increase our chances of survival, but the choice is yours: become an officer over the spellcasters you deem worthy; join the ranks under the command of one of my other officers; or remain with the bulk of Stormrage's army and test yourself against endless waves of demons."

Damnit. Saire fought to keep her face smooth. Her father had told her to get into the human's confidences by whatever means was available to her, and instead she had very nearly driven him to the point of leaving her behind. "I'll train some mages," she said reluctantly. "But if I'm to be an officer, I will expect to be treated as an officer. I want to know what you plan for us, and I want to be certain you won't spend our lives carelessly."

Those endless black eyes pinned her for a moment, and then Lokiv turned away with a half-shrug. "Very well. When next I see you I expect you to have drawn up a list of names of possible apprentices and presented them to my quartermaster to be reassigned. Oh, and tell your father whatever you like about tonight's pathetic attempts at seduction. You can get into my confidences without getting into my bed, so either way the onerous task he forced upon you has achieved its results. Dismissed."

Dismissed. As if this had been an official military meeting rather than a botched late-night assignation. Was he mocking her, or showing her a measure of mercy from her humiliation?

Then what he'd said struck home, and she went rigid with shock. He _knew_. Not only that her attempts to seduce him had been at her father's behest, but that it was information they'd wanted. What else did he know? How did he know it? What was he capable of?

With unseemly haste she ducked from the tent. Outside Ilinar scrambled to his feet, staring at her with an almost silly expression on his face. Frightened, frustrated, and angry, Saire cuffed him so soundly he lost his balance and fell back to the ground. "In future," she said sharply, "you will avert your eyes when witnessing an undressing woman, unless specifically invited to do otherwise. Do not let me catch you acting the lecher again." The boy looked up at her with a wounded expression, which she ignored as she stalked away.

That had _not_ gone as planned. The question now was whether to pretend it had, or to admit she had been spurned. The obvious solution was to do the former, to spare her pride, but that hinged on Lokiv maintaining the charade as well. From his final words to her it sounded as if he would, but who could be sure? Who could be sure about anything, come to it? It was an acceptable risk, she hoped, since it seemed the human didn't care one way or the other.

And perhaps, if she said she had succeeded, her father wouldn't ever again force her to make her way into that awful tent, bare in more ways than one to that soulless gaze.


	8. Blood and Thunder

I was delighted last Saturday, just after updating, when the video card on my computer gave out. Luckily I was able to get my new computer this morning, giving me time to get the next chapter written and update it :).

Chapter Seven

Blood and Thunder

By the departed Sunwell. Half a day of this was enough to make her promise herself she'd never be a teacher of magic.

Mediocre talent at best in this group. Some might think that anyone could just put on a robe and become a mage, but it wasn't true. You had to have the _talent_ for it, and even among the elves that talent was fairly uncommon. Oh, certainly, anyone could _try_ to become a mage, and spend their lives pushing themselves to be able to cast pathetic spells that Saire could cast with ease.

"I'm sorry," she said as kindly as she could. "None of you are suitable. Lieutenant Hardal or Velansar will be around shortly to assign you to the scouts or foot soldiers. Be honest in your abilities so you are placed where you will do the most good."

She turned away from the disappointed group and moved on to the next cluster, some dozen people in all. Behind her two men followed smugly. Neither looked to have spectacular potential, but she'd seen less talented humans accepted into apprenticeship so they would do. She only hoped to find more out of these twelve: half the camp had already passed under her fingers, and these two were all she'd found. She hadn't really expected otherwise, since most of the true magical talent of Corona's Blaze was either dead or fighting in Prince Kael'thas's army.

"Respond to anything unusual you feel as this test continues," she told an older woman who looked barely fit to accompany them. "I will know if you make false claims." She slowly began channeling frost energy through her hands in miniscule quantities. The woman made no response, even as she gradually upped the amount of energy she channeled.

She was about to switch to fire and test that, weary at the thought of repeating the test forty or so more times, when she heard a shout from behind, someone calling her. She released the old woman's head and turned to see Hiezal storming towards her.

The captain of Lokiv's bodyguard glared at the group around her. "Leave," he commanded tersely. The elves all stared back at him coolly, not about to be driven off so rudely. Hiezal actually went so far as to put his hand on his sword's hilt. "I said _leave_!" he snarled. Saire stepped away from the group as they casually drifted away, trying to pretend that they hadn't been scared off.

"What is this, Hiezal?" she demanded. "I'm already rushing to-"

"It's all around the camp that you fucked the mudman."

Saire drew her shoulders back and straightened, outraged. He _dared_ pry into her private dealings? And to make a spectacle of it in public? "I suggest you tell me why that's any of your affair," she said coolly.

The handsome elf searched her features, his scowl deepening. "It's true then?"

She further chilled her tone. "Any of your business?" Around them villagers were looking on, trying to pretend that they weren't edging closer to listen to the conversation.

Hiezal laughed in disbelief. "Last evening I have you in my tent, bringing you more pleasure than you've ever felt in your life, and then I hear not four hours later you're sliding up and down the pole of a filthy human! And you ask _how it's not my business, you who_-?" Saire arched an eyebrow in warning, and he cut off before actually saying it. And well he had, or he might have spent the rest of his life as a sheep.

A few of the people around them murmured in surprise and disgust, and Saire fought to keep her face from flushing in anger and embarrassment. "Why do you care? There are no ties that bind us, and I never claimed otherwise."

She could see the words stung her old friend. But that sting only proved to increase his anger. "I had hoped there was something more between us. Something forged from growing to adulthood in the same place, and further strengthened by the ordeals we've shared." He flushed, obviously embarrassed at admitting as much, and looked away. "I had hoped there was more."

Saire was somewhat surprised. That almost seemed like genuine sincerity in her erstwhile lover's expression. If he hadn't begun as a buffoon she might have been gentler with him, but she was still irked at the way he'd made this public. And all but called her a prostitute. "You want to play it that way, Hiezal? You've never pretended I was anything other than a conquest, and for any history we might have shared I view you as no more than a brother."

He sniffed. "A brother you have casual sex with?"

"Yes, Hiezal, ponder that word. Casual. As in there is nothing to it beyond mutual gratification. And for all your claims I'll wager you enjoyed it far more than I." His face further darkened, and he opened his mouth, probably to say something spiteful. She held up a hand in warning. "And if you want the casual sex to remain _have_ and not become _had_ I suggest you walk away now."

For a moment he visibly quivered, then he turned on his heel, speaking a last sally over his shoulder. "Don't be so sure I'd want to sample the leavings of a filthy mudman." Not allowing her a comeback he stormed away.

Saire glared after him. Oh, he would certainly be back. And after some time to cool off from this encounter she might even let the oaf weasel his way back into her bed. Maybe after quite a bit of time. And she'd certainly punish him for humiliating her in front of all these people.

_Yes, father, of course I'll seduce the human. I can't see any way that could turn out badly._

Scowling, she turned and strode back to the group she had been testing.

. . . . .

It had been a long day, and he'd spent most of it feeling like he was carrying dead weight as he tried to organize a group that didn't want to be organized, under the leadership of people who didn't want to follow him. "These should suffice," he told Theril, inspecting the half-dozen wagons the Elder had managed to finagle. "I assume you've arranged for them to be overburdened with needed supplies, rather than riding light?"

Theril nodded. "What I've gathered should suffice, with room left over to cart our peoples' personal effects."

"Good." Nex looked over the neatly stacked night elf weapons and armor that filled two of the carts. "If Dor'ane, Redcrest, and Saire have finished dividing the troops, see this equipment passed out to the appropriate recipients so that the wagons are free to carry supplies. I want every man carrying his own gear, as well as food and water and other necessary supplies for two days. They can put tents and blankets in the wagons, if they can't carry them."

"Sensible," Theril said, nodding. "I'll see it done."

"Good." Nex turned to Redcrest, who had approached while he was inspecting the wagons and was waiting impatiently to one side. "How go your efforts, Captain? Are the men ready to move out?"

The Spell Breaker scowled at the "promotion" to captain. In an irregular army, Nex could call him "Lord General of the Hosts of the Damned" and it wouldn't matter a bit. When he returned to his command under Kael'thas he might get a promotion for his efforts, but judging who he was serving under he might just as easily be demoted for contrived reasons. "There is more we could do," he answered stiffly, "but it would mostly be unnecessary delay, human."

Nex frowned slightly. He'd hoped as his people became more familiar with him they'd quit calling him human. It was somewhat ironic that after a lifetime of barely thinking he fit the label, he'd been thrust into command of a group that despised him for being what he hardly thought he was. After all, he had plenty of unpleasant defining characteristics they could despise him for. They had to pick the one that least aptly applied to him? "It's too late to start out this evening," he said coolly. "Let them make final preparations, and be ready to take them north in the morning."

Redcrest blinked, surprise briefly overwhelming hauteur in his features. "I thought our path took us westwards."

"Oh yes, it certainly does. Traveling north we'll eventually reach the edge of this island-continent, and find that our only paths that don't end in a thousand mile drop are east, west, or back the way we came." Redcrest opened his mouth to say something, and Nex continued sharply. "But directly west of here and a bit south lies the path that leads to Magtheridon's fortress. That way will be crawling with demons, and even if we had to march a week out of our way to avoid them I'll call it a fair tradeoff." He paused for just the right amount of time. "Unless, of course, you want to test your untrained irregulars against the might of a demon horde."

The Spell Breaker scowled at him for a moment, but couldn't meet his gaze for long. "That is the task of our Prince," he admitted grudgingly.

"Yes it is. Luckily our path will take us north by necessity, so we suffer little delay in going that direction. I assume you're satisfied with that explanation?" It wouldn't be the first time the Spell Breaker had balked and argued over simple, sensible orders. Redcrest replied by stalking away, and Nex turned towards his tent. He'd meant what he said to Montfere about letting the boy have the tent most of the time, but this evening he had a use for it that would take a few hours.

Before he'd reached the ragged patchwork sagging on its poles, which impossibly seemed even uglier by day than it had by night, his page hurried up to him, a peeved expression on his face. "You have a guest in the tent," he said.

Nex slowed. "Who?" he demanded.

"Who do you think? That redheaded mage who snuck in last night." Montfere scowled at him. "You told me you'd hardly be using the tent. I've had a long day, starting earlier than most, and I wanted to get an early sleep too."

Nex quickened his pace towards the tent. Saire, again? He thought he'd done an admirable job of ensuring she'd never bother his privacy after last night. "Don't make the mistake of thinking the tent is yours, boy. If I want to host a troop of orcs within its walls, I'll rouse you out of sound sleep and boot you out into the night to do so. In any case I need it for a few hours this evening, and you'll be required to guard the entrance while I do." Montfere opened his mouth to protest, and Nex hardened his tone. "You know how to speak, now learn when to be silent." The boy subsided into sulks, but thankfully kept quiet.

Nex threw open the flap and strode into his tent. As he'd expected, Saire sat gingerly upon his battered cot, looking as if she would have preferred to stand. At the least she was fully clothed this time. "I thought I made myself clear last night," he said.

She didn't appear the least bit disturbed. "Make no misunderstanding, human. I'm not here for you."

He stared at her coldly until she flinched and looked away. "Then sitting in my tent seems a poor choice, if it's not me you wish to see."

She shifted, mouth tightening with annoyance. "After our meeting last night I allowed my compatriots to make certain... assumptions... about us. In order to maintain those assumptions and avoid being pressured into further unpleasantness, I'm required to maintain a subterfuge. Give me five minutes or so within the tent, Lokiv, and I'll come out sweaty and disheveled and bother you no further until tomorrow."

Nex could hardly believe the woman's gall. He had seen the discomfort, disgust, and terror in her eyes last night. He had made it clear he had no interest in her company. But here she was, making a pretense of being his lover.

He leaned back, reaching through the tent flaps, and caught Montfere's ear tightly, yanking him into the tent. Of course the boy had been listening at the flaps. Montfere gave a yelp and started to struggle. "Boy, as my page one of your duties is entertaining unwanted guests. I don't know by what means people do so, whether it be singing, games, storytelling, or whatever else, but be sure Mistress Saire enjoys her stay in my tent."

His page hesitated. "Will you be leaving?" he asked, almost hopefully. Nex wondered with amusement just what the boy hoped he could accomplish, alone in the tent with a woman four times his age.

"I'll be in that corner over there," he said, pointing. Then he suited his words by spreading the uniform's half-cape on the ground and sitting atop it. "Make as much noise as you like, but don't touch me or address me directly unless we're all about to be slaughtered by enemies."

With the mage and the boy looking on Nex gritted his teeth, prepared his spell matrix, and then reached up and pulled his right eye out of its socket, enduring the pain as he swiftly wove his modified version of Kilrogg's spell over it. In the background he heard two simultaneous gasps, which he ignored as he released the eye, closing his left and focusing through it. Then he guided it out of the tent and northwards, slower than it was capable of going as he carefully took in the terrain and any potential obstacles. When he was finished he'd be able to seek out his officers and give them a specific route to follow.

"That's so gross," he heard Montfere say somewhere in the background. "Can you do that, Mistress?"

"Divination is not one of my talents," he heard Saire reply, somewhat queasily. After a long silence Nex hardly noticed, intent on his efforts, she spoke again. "So, boy, you're to entertain me?"

Montfere replied somewhat apologetically. "I don't know how to sing or nothing like that, and most of the games I know couldn't work inside a tent."

She laughed softly. Nex guided his eye over a ridge, looking for a way over or around it that would allow wagons. "Very well then, I'll tell you a story. Have you heard the tale of Aegwynn, the last Guardian of Tirisfal?" Nex cocked an ear in interest. He'd heard the tale, as related by secondhand sources from the traitor Medivh and various demonic accounts. He wondered if the mages had details he hadn't heard.

"No. Should I have?"

Saire laughed again. "No, in fact you shouldn't have. Few even in Dalaran know of the events I'm about to relate, although from it stems all the woes that have since befallen Azeroth. Come sit down, and I'll tell you of how a proud and reckless woman battled the Dark Titan himself, and paved the way for the coming of the orcs and all that has happened since."

. . . . .

Nex left his army marching northwards and returned back to Sunstrider's camp. He had business to be about, and it wasn't like his people could move fast enough with their wagons that he couldn't catch them easily.

The smith immediately stopped his efforts when he became aware of Nex, and with much fuss and obvious pride in his work he led Nex over to where his suit of armor rested.

"The reforging took less time than expected. As you can see we worked it as strong as we could, and you'll find fewer more sturdy suits of plate in camp, even among the Spell Breakers. It should match all your measurements perfectly, but of course we should fit it and be certain..." the elf trailed off, then coughed lightly. "There was some, ah, debate about whether we should make it lighter. Whether you'd be strong enough to bear it. I told the others I wasn't making any toy suit for kids to swing sticks in, and you'll find it's proportionally as heavy as it was before. If you can't bear the weight I suggest you get some meat on your bones."

Nex nodded absently as he picked up the suit on its rack. Fifty or so pounds, he judged. He could have borne five times the weight without discomfort. The smith continued as he inspected the suit. "You might notice its color. The reforging introduced a lot of carbon into the metal. We didn't have the time or the tools to do the job in a way that would give the metal its former sheen, but if you like we can lacquer it any color you like, or cover it with gold or silver leaf that'll shine like the-"

"This suffices," Nex interrupted calmly. In truth, he was pleased by the dark, smoky gray color. It would be harder to spot, either by day or by night, and there was a certain dark beauty in its lack of luster. "Help me put it on, and then show me how to take it off and put it on by myself."

The smith sprang into action, arranging the thick breastplate and backplate in place and tying them, then going on to the armplates and legplates. "The leather of the gauntlets was torn and severed on the right hand, so we replaced it," the smith explained as he helped Nex pull the gauntlets into place. When he started to take off Nex's shoes in favor of the heavy boots Nex waved him off and put the boots into his dimensional pocket portal. He could think of very few instances when he'd prefer protection for his feet over mobility.

When it was done he straightened and began bending and stretching, testing the limits of the armor. It fit well over the uniform Sunstrider had given him, and the joints had been expertly worked to restrict his range of motion very little. Nex threw his shabby cloak over it and inspected it carefully. He still had a lot of work to do enchanting it to suit his preferences, but all in all it was quite nice.

He drew a few gold Anduins out of his pocket. "Is this sufficient?" he asked. The smith frowned, obviously wanting to say no, but finally nodded; all he'd provided was the labor, after all. "Good. Show me how to remove it and put it on again."

. . . . .

The "army" had been marching for half a day or so by the time Nex caught up to them. The distance they'd covered in that time was fairly distressing: he'd run to Sunstrider's camp and back, then taken a few detours to investigate the terrain, and they'd barely covered five miles in the interim. At this rate they'd be marching for Tempest Keep for months.

Hardal Dor'ane was waiting for him not far from the line of march. The lean scout bore one of the night elf bows on his back as naturally as if he'd carried one for years. "There you are, sir," he said calmly. "Was wondering where you got off to." His eyes took in Nex's new armor, and he gave a low whistle. "Fine armor you've come by, there."

Nex frowned impatiently. "Was there something you needed, Dor'ane? I'd think you'd be more concerned with seeing the men moved at something more than a crawl, rather than hanging around waiting for me to show up so you could engage me in small talk."

The lean scout shrugged. "As to that, your second Velansar was concerned about where you'd disappeared to. He ordered a brief halt while we waited for you to catch up. After about two hours of that he got us going again, but we haven't exactly been hoofing it."

Nex narrowed his eyes. "Is that right?"

. . . . .

"I make no apologies for my actions, human. If you're going to disappear without telling anyone where you're going, I'm going to respond by sending out search parties."

"Your job is to make the best time you can each day," Nex shot back, struggling to control his anger. "You have Dor'ane and the scouts to make sure you're not walking into a trap, and unless a wagon breaks or you encounter an obstacle you can't easily surmount I expect you to be pushing the men as fast as you can. We have a large distance to traverse quickly, and I fail to see why my absence would prevent you from seeing it done."

Redcrest scowled at him, but it was Theril who answered. "We understand the need for haste. Only, sir, the men seem to feel that their leader should be present, ah, leading them. Not regularly disappearing and never to be found when an issue must be addressed."

Nex shrugged out of his pack, tossing it into one corner of Theril's tent. "Is that right?" he asked coolly. "And what of my orders that you were to travel for a half-day and then find a likely place to set up camp and begin drilling the recruits? You've been marching for nearly three-quarters of the day, now. And made as poor time as if you'd barely begun."

Theril's lips tightened, but the Elder managed to keep his irritation in check. "As I said, such issues would be far easier resolved if you remained at the head of the line, ready to let us know your wishes."

"In other words unless I'm around telling you what to do every second of the day, you'll do nothing?"

"To be blunt, yes," Redcrest growled. "What if the opposite were to happen, and we spent half a day marching hard only for you to come waltzing into camp angry that we'd erred through action rather than inaction?"

"I can traverse distances far faster than the line can. It only makes sense that I range out ahead and find the best path, rather than wasting time marching with the men."

Dor'ane cleared his throat. "Begging your pardon," he said mildly, "but that's what the scouts are for. Mayhaps you could let us do our job, while you remain in camp and do yours. That's what makes sense to me."

. . . . .

It didn't make sense, of course.

He could travel five times the distance his so-called army could in the same amount of time, and never had to rest. While they were busy with drilling and sleeping he could scout far afield, and bring back useful information on the route they would take the next day.

But little as he liked it, Hardal did have a point. Which was why instead of being out doing something useful Nex was "overseeing" the drills his makeshift army were running at his order. Apparently leadership involved sitting around doing nothing so the men could be satisfied you were in control. He supposed it was only fair that they'd balk at a human's leadership, forcing him to oversee every little detail as their petty means of taking revenge. He was surprised they weren't forcing him to oversee their sleep.

Still, from what he could see they should be spending a lot more time drilling and a lot less time sleeping.

The archers were coming along, in a way; where before most couldn't even draw the bows properly, now they merely couldn't hit a target at fifty yards. It wasn't their fault entirely. The elves, while unusually quick and graceful, were none of them very large, and the massive longbows they'd been issued from the supplies plundered from the night elves had a draw that some human men would have had trouble with. Even those elves with experience with bows had difficulty with the massive things.

Who would have thought that the ungainly man-hands and unsightly bulging forearms of the Watchers he'd seen made them perfectly suitable to wield their longbows? But at the least using the weapons was not outside the strength of the blood elves: it would merely take them time to grow the proper callouses and condition the necessary muscles, to say nothing of learning to draw and loose swiftly and hit targets at a distance.

He only hoped they had that kind of time. Many swordsmen looked down on archers as layabouts and cowards, but a true marksman spent as much time loosing arrows as any master swordsman spent practicing his forms. To make a novice archer competent was the work of weeks, if not months, and mastery a matter of years.

He turned away from the pitiful archery attempts to where his fighters drilled under the watchful gaze of the Spell Breakers. Here the prospect was much better. The natural grace and speed of the elves was a perfect complement to the sorts of weapons the night elf Watchers had preferred. Mostly glaives, which looked awkward until one actually saw one in action and realized how well-balanced they were and how perfectly they responded to the motion of the arm. Also drawn from the plundered weapons were a sort of curved short sword of surprisingly intricate make that held a wicked edge, and oddly forward-curved heavy kukri knives that were made for slashing and chopping rather than simply stabbing.

The Spell Breakers relied more on strength than mere speed with their own weapons, the heavy double-bladed warglaives that stood five feet tall planted into the ground; these elite fighters were among the largest blood elves he'd ever seen, and he had at first feared they'd be poorly suited to training the Corona's Blaze villagers in the lighter weaponry. But they were obviously not only natural fighters but versed in all sorts of weapons, and even the unfamiliar glaives were no challenge to their training skills. While the abilities of the villagers were only a step above abysmal, Nex felt that should he have reason to fight them now it would be merely a slaughter, rather than a complete massacre.

"Do you have a moment, Lord Lokiv?"

Nex turned to see Eldre'theril standing a short distance away. Suitable to his duties as quartermaster, the elderly blood elf held a sheaf of papers, and one of the youths from the village was trailing behind him, furiously scribbling notes.

Nex turned from the drilling. "What makes you think I'm a lord?" Technically he was, of course, but Nex had always felt technicalities could go bugger themselves.

The older blood elf smiled thinly. "None of my people are pleased to be serving under a human once more. It salves their ego to at least believe you're of noble birth."

"Fair enough. What did you want?"

Theril hesitated. "I was, ah, wondering how far it is to this Tempest Keep we're supposed to be assaulting."

Nex was about to snap out a thoughtless answer, then paused and reconsidered. "I'm not entirely certain," he said instead. "By what I was told it's nearly as far away from Magtheridon's stronghold the Black Temple as possible. At least the length of two continent-sized islands away. Considering that we've been traveling across this one for three days and are nowhere near its end I would say we're looking at at least several weeks of travel, perhaps as much as a month."

"I see." The blood elf's mouth twisted in annoyance. "There is an issue with the supplies that will have to be addressed, and the sooner the better; at the moment it is merely a concern, but if left untended it will become a catastrophe."

"What issue? I put you in charge of our resources to solve problems, not come running to me with them."

Theril smiled thinly. "It stands to reason that all matters of import be brought to the commander's attention. If a subordinate were to simply go around issuing orders to the other officers to solve a pressing concern what would set the leader himself apart?"

Nex waved that away impatiently. "What problem?" he repeated.

"Food and water supplies, my Lord. To be blunt, we left camp with food sufficient for three weeks at travel rations, and water for three days. Given that you've been pushing us to cover a fair distance every morning and evening in the relative (and I do mean relative, considering the temperature is still over a hundred degrees) coolness of those times, and on top of that have us drilling hard after every march, we've been forced to go above travel rations to full rations. Our food, and especially our water in this heat and with the men exercising so vigorously, are being consumed quickly."

Well, that wasn't a problem he'd been anticipating. Nex had never led even a group of men, but he wasn't a fool when it came to logistics. He could estimate travel speeds and determine likely paths, calculate when an engagement would likely take place by the relative speed of the marching forces, calculate probable strength of those forces and determine which battleground would most suit his force, and which tactics to employ.

Food, on the other hand, was a new one. Having never had to worry about starving, he'd forgotten he was abnormal in that regard. That taken into consideration, logistics became far more complicated.

"You're saying we have food for eighteen days, and our water is low," he stated.

"Correction, my Lord. We have food for fifteen days at current consumption, and we're down to droplets in our water supply. If we hadn't brought an extra water wagon dehydration would already be an issue."

"And you didn't think to tell me this before?"

Theril hesitated. "The food was, as I stated, not an emergency. As for the water, I had assumed we'd find a source with which to refill our tanks during our travel. You have to understand I have little experience outside the green forests of Quel'thalas, where water is generally more a nuisance than a need."

"Then we have to send the scouts out for water immediately."

"I doubt they'll find any. We've gone three days in this barren wasteland and found nothing in the way of water, nor even hints of its presence such as greener vegetation. With water so scarce it would require covering an enormous amount of area to increase our chances of finding any. On foot I do not think we could manage it before it became an issue." The elder shrugged apologetically. "I'm afraid this concern only presented itself to me at this last break, or I would have come to you sooner."

Nex growled and turned away, thinking. Of course Kael'thas had refused them a single damn dragonhawk, when he had an entire menagerie full of the things. They were waging war on a demon lord within a week's travel of their location, and Nex was seeking out a floating fortress a month's travel away that for all they knew might move regularly. But no, _his_ need of aerial patrols was the lesser one.

"Let's focus on the problems we can do something about for the moment," Nex said. He turned back to the archers and raised his voice to be heard over the noise of drilling. "Dor'ane, your attention!" The elf turned to him inquisitively. "Congratulations, your scouts are now also hunters. Any man among them who returns from patrol with fresh food is exempt from drilling and night patrol both." A low cheer was raised among the archers at that: most of them were scouts, and as their numbers were less than the melee fighters they'd been stuck with the lion's share of the work: doing far patrols at night as well as scouting by day, and still required to drill.

Nex turned to where the melee troops had paused in their drilling to look on. "Redcrest, detail a rotating shift from your sentries to assist in night patrol." The Spellbreaker Captain nodded with a grimace of distaste, deliberately not saluting.

As the troops resumed their drilling Theril cleared his throat quietly. "That solution might serve for the food, my Lord, but it doesn't solve the most pressing issue."

"I'm well aware." Nex reached into his pack, rummaging around until he drew out an odd pinkish candle. As the elderly mage watched with interest he drew a small summoning circle, then drew another with the bottom line of the second connecting to the top line of the first in intricate flourishes. Three more summoning circles were drawn, until there were five in a cross pattern laid out. Nex set the candle in the center circle and concentrated deeply. The spell was far more intricate cast five ways simultaneously, as well as requiring far more power than five individual summonings would. But that was how the demon world worked: you were either limited to one minion with possible exceptions, or you cast a mass summoning.

When the spell was complete dark smoke roiled among the circles, hiding the summoning gateways as the demons emerged. Then the smoke dissipated, revealing five identical succubi standing in five identical poses, whips curled easily in one hand. As one they turned to Nex and said "I won't bite," in excessively seductive tones.

"Shut the fuck up," Nex said. He quickly pointed to each of the succubi in turn. "You're all going to be flying a grid, and covering every square foot of it by morning. At the first sign of water you return and report. You, you're taking northwest. You, northeast. You, southwest, you southeast. You there, the leftover one, you're going to be flying due west, as hard and fast as you can for half the night, noting anything of interest, and then you're going to return."

The four succubi in search of water immediately took to the air, winging away. Somehow even in flight they managed to look sultry and seductive. The last one paused a moment, smiling coyly. "I like it hard, but not fast." Nex replied by lifting a hand and squeezing it into a fist, and the demon squealed in a mixture of agony and ecstasy and hunched for a moment, then took to the air.

Theril watched the creatures disappearing from sight, open disapproval written across his face. "I'm all for aerial surveillance, my Lord. But I don't see why you have to summon those vile creatures. I thought your purpose was to hunt existing demons, not invite more into the world."

"You'd rather see eighty people die of thirst for the sake of preventing five lesser demons even you could probably dispatch with ease?"

The elder of Corona's Blaze could find no reply to that, and it obviously irked him. "Should it not be eighty-one?" he finally asked.

"I do not thirst or hunger as other men do," Nex replied shortly. "Keep this problem between us for now. If the succubi fail to find water by the end of the drilling session you can start to worry again."

Theril pressed his lips together but said nothing.

Three hours later the succubus who had been flying to the northwest returned. "Success, master," she purred, alighting in front of him. "Are you going to pet me in congratulations?"

"Report," Nex said curtly.

She pulled her full lips into a sultry pout, covering her delicate fangs. "To the east and a little north of here, roughly an hour as I fly. There are pools that look to have been sacred at one time, but are now the residence of a pit lord. He seems to be reveling in corrupting the clear waters," she frowned. "Which is all well and good, but I far prefer corrupting more... alive... objects."

Nex nodded sharply. "Prepare to lead me to these pools," he ordered. He turned to Theril. "Order the men to break camp. You'll be marching to the pools tonight."

The blood elf Elder frowned in distaste. "You wish us to resupply with water befouled by demons?"

"_Holy _water," Nex corrected. "With any luck whatever virtue the pools contained has been balanced out by demonic taint, and we'll be left with tepid drinking water."

Theril sniffed. "I highly doubt that will be the case."

"Then I hope your people are thirsty by the time we get there."

. . . . .

Saire had her apprentices at practice manipulating simple spellforms. The task had them sitting still with their eyes closed, obviously concentrating deeply, though there was no outward sign of their efforts. Any but a student of the arcane would think the students accomplishing nothing. Although, to be fair, with the way they were progressing that assumption wasn't far off. She stood at the front of them, one hand on her hip, irritated although it wasn't really fair to be. Then, she'd been in a foul mood ever since she'd practically thrown herself at a man and for the first time in her life been treated with utter contempt.

Oh, certainly, returning to his tents each night wasn't nearly as onerous as she'd feared it would be. Most of the time he ignored her completely, leaving young Ilinar to accompany her. She usually ended up telling the boy stories, and found that his company wasn't nearly as vexing as she'd feared. There was something to say of children, at least: few had managed to gain the cynicism so many blood elf adults had acquired. She wondered how such a good boy had ended up page to a creature so unpleasant as the human.

As if thinking of him were a summons Lokiv sidled up alongside her, and she jumped slightly and turned to glare at him. "How are your mages progressing?" he asked mildly.

She barked a mocking burst of laughter and tossed her head, sending copper-colored hair cascading over one shoulder. "I would hardly call them "mages". Most are dabblers at best, familiar with a few minor charms for enchanting brooms to sweep and other tasks to save them having to work. A few have actually read an arcane tome, although the theory they seemed to have grasped from their mockery of an education is laughable."

"I'm sure you'll have them prepared for combat in time," Lokiv said, his tone making it clear it wasn't an assurance but an order.

"I can have them useful for tactical offensive spells by the time we get wherever we're going. Maybe. In any battle against a true mage these fools would be dead in the first few seconds, but it doesn't take any true skill to throw fireballs from behind the cover of swordsmen."

"Good enough," the human replied, and abruptly changed the subject. "Do you have any skill at conjuration?"

Saire sniffed. "Some, although to my mind it's no better than glorified illusion, unless you're a true master and can manage permanent effects. Otherwise even food and water you conjure does no more than fool the body into thinking it's satisfied, until the spell wanes and all the discomfort of hunger or thirst returns in full."

"What part of my simple question did you interpret as an invitation to lecture me on magic?" Lokiv said. His disconcerting eyes were regarding her flatly.

Saire bristled. Oh of course, she didn't need to lecture _Lokiv_ on anything, because there was nothing the arrogant bastard didn't know. "What do you want with conjuration?" she snapped.

He didn't appear to even notice her tone. "I need you to conjure water for the troops. Enough to get them twenty miles at a hard pace."

"Maybe I _should_ lecture you on conjuration, human. Did you not just hear me tell you that conjured water only mimics real water, and once the spell fails the body is worse off for it? What possible benefit could conjured water have in our current situation?"

"The men only need to think they're not thirsty until we reach our destination. Then there'll be water enough for them to make up the lack." Saire could think of nothing to say to that, although Lokiv pointedly paused to give her the opportunity: she had never considered such a use for conjured water, though it made good sense. He continued, somewhat smugly she thought. "Can your conjured water last four hours?"

"Easily," she said stiffly.

"Good. See to it."

Saire watched the human stride away, silently fuming at the gall the man displayed. Then she turned back to her apprentices, who were still concentrating deeply. "Enough of that," she snapped, and their eyes snapped open, startled. "I'm going to show you how to conjure water. It will likely do you little good to know how it is done, but any experience you gain with gathering arcane energy and manipulating spellforms can only benefit you. Attend me."

With a last spiteful glance at the retreating human, she began the time-consuming and annoying task of conjuring enough water for eighty people.

. . . . .

It turned out roughly an hour for a succubus was around two and a half for him at a hard pace. The men would be trekking for farther than twenty miles, it seemed. Perhaps it would make up for the first day's sloth.

He looked down at the pools below, which were festooned with arbors and altars and other such implements. Most of the nearest ones bubbled clear, radiating a soft light. The others farther back swirled with darkness, radiating corruption he could feel even from here. It was an incongruous sight to see so much water in this desolate wasteland, and even grass and a few trees among the pools. A place of such beauty would attract demons eager to befoul it.

"A pit lord, you say," he said to the succubus squatting beside him. "Was he accompanied by any minions?"

She shrugged. "If he was, I didn't see them."

"All right. Go find the marching blood elves and see they reach here by the swiftest possible route."

She straightened sinuously, looking up at him with big blue eyes that belied the demonic presence hidden within. "I could do my job better if you turn me loose."

"Do the job as I say and give my people no cause to complain about you. You'll wish I'd killed you if you don't."

Sulking, she took to the air and glided away.

With a final slow inspection of the area below, Nex made his way down to the pools. He was already gathering his power, preparing his weapons, and hoping. Pit lords were not so dangerous as eredar or nathrezim, but they were far more difficult to stop. Aside from their heavy hide which could turn many inferior blades, their vitals were hidden beneath several feet of corded muscle as tough as tree roots. The only vulnerable area was their chest, over which they usually wore a foot-thick metal plate so heavy lesser creatures would be hard-pressed to merely lift it, yet they bore the burden with ease. Big and powerful, they were also largely resistant to magic, particularly shadow and fire magics. Which made it difficult for him.

But there was little choice. All demons were filled with bloodlust and a love of destruction, but pit lords were almost unthinking in their depredations. He might have been able to make a deal with an eredar or nathrezim or shivarra, but a pit lord would attack without hesitation. Perhaps the novelty of hearing him speak demonic would amuse it for a few moments, and then Nex would be fighting for his life.

False gods damn the world. The only relatively heavy weapon he had was his final remaining torpedo, enchanted for impact. His Blinkstrike wouldn't even hit a vital organ, and while he could put out one or perhaps both of the pit lord's eyes they were said to possess incredible regenerative abilities. They were swift as well, so if he blinked in he would likely be slain before he could get away.

Maybe he should wait, borrow one of the Spell Breaker's warglaives. It might be more suitable to the job, but as it was he was probably overmatched.

The deeper he went into the pools the darker and more foul the water became, carrying a stink that made an open cesspool seem pleasant by comparison. He was surprised the pit lord wasn't making more of an effort to befoul the waters evenly, rather than leaving those at the front all but pure while farther back the corruption ran thick and poisonous. He understood why, however, when he rounded a low hill amidst the pools and saw the demon lord's massive form hulking in the center of the rearmost pool, with only cliffs rising up behind it. Bile, blood, and ichor flowed into the pool, and it could be said what was within that foul font was no longer even water.

The pit lord was dead.

Nex slowly let his power drain back into his reserves, not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Godsdamn succubus. He'd never thought to specifically ask whether the pit lord was alive or dead, and she'd obviously been delighted at being allowed to misdirect him in a way that didn't go against specific orders or restraints.

Now he understood why the corruption was deepest farther back. The foul fluids of the dead demon had gushed free from a terrible wound beneath its massive chestplate, which was askew on one chain. Blood, both the black blood of the demon and more reddish blood from those that had likely killed it, splattered the area liberally, and it looked as if the pit lord had not died swiftly or easily. But those who had slain the brute had respected their dead enough to carry them away from the accursed place.

Nex approached carefully, wary of a trick or demonic contamination from the beast's innards. As he rounded one of its massive front legs he saw that an area was open where the pit lord had fallen on its side, and within that area a battle standard had been planted, along with a crude sign carved into what looked like leathery whitish-gray bark. The standard was similar to the common one he'd seen born by members of the Orcish Horde, with a few subtle differences, mostly in the flourishes around the core design. He moved closer and read the sign, which was scrawled in red blood and was written in Orcish.

"Here lies Aggonar, Lord of the Defiled Pools.

He thought to enslave us, as others have done,

but he did not count on the fury of those who,

released from blood pact by the death of the Destructor,

raised their axes to the sky and cried,

"Never again! WE ARE FREE!"

Lok'tar ogar!"

Nex stared at the crude writing, imagining the orcs raising their axes and crying out in victory. He had met orcs in his day, and all had been bloodthirsty brutes, as reckless and wild as the demons they'd once served. He'd heard that the orcs had entered a pact with Mannoroth and taken the pit lord's corrupted blood into themselves and their followers as part of the bargain. "The Destructor" was one of Mannoroth's titles, along with "the Flayer" and others.

Interesting. He hadn't heard that the orcs had slain Mannoroth and freed themselves. But if orcs on Outland were saying it was so, they must know: generally demonic corruption was impossible to cure, and taking a pit lord's blood into yourself would tie a chain around you that could only be freed with that pit lord's death. If the orcs of this world had felt the corruption leave them, there were few other explanations, unless Mannoroth had specifically released the orcs from thralldom, which was highly unlikely.

What would free orcs be like?

Either way, it would probably be a good idea to keep a close watch in case the group, powerful enough to slay a demon lord and raise a monument to the victory, should return. For a moment he was tempted to remove the banner and sign and claim the pit lord's defeat at his own hands. Such a feat would impress his men, and perhaps make them more tractable.

An idle thought. The pit lord had been dead for a long while now, long enough that its foul flesh was decaying off its bones. Few would be fooled by such a claim, and even a doubt about its verity would only make the blood elves despise him the more.

Instead he took a flask from his pack, dumped out the unnecessary water within it, and carefully filled it from the befouled pool. Then he stoppered it, wiped it clean as best he could, and wrapped it in cloth. There was power in a demon lord's blood, even a slain demon lord. And while this Aggonar looked to have been somewhat young and weak for a pit lord, the corruption within its blood was great enough to defile sacred pools. Might be he would find a use for the corrupted waters at some point.

Then, that task finished, he hurried away from the foul place, returning to the first few pools, still pure, and waiting for his people to arrive.

The succubus dropped down beside him, panting delicately from exertion. "I've brought your minions, master. I hope my reward is a pleasant one." She licked her lips with a long, slender tongue.

"To me, sins of omission are as damning as sins of commission, demon," Nex said coldly. He raised his hand and slowly closed his fingers into a fist, subtly working the chains of power that bound the succubus to him. She screamed, back arching almost in ecstasy. "Let me teach you the difference between a dead enemy and a living one, so you don't make this mistake again."


	9. Fel Orcs and Felfire

Chapter Eight

Fel Orcs and Felfire

It was a road after all.

They had been all but certain for the last few hours, and suspicious since they'd discovered it a day or so ago. A bit more wear to the stone, telltale depressions wherever the wind had blown the grit deep enough to leave signs. All old, of course, at least a week and probably longer.

The remains of a crude camp that had been erected in the shelter of a low ridge, on the other hand, was something else entirely. And it was crude; the haphazard nature of what remained, the excess of filth and garbage, suggested a large, poorly organized mob of creatures. She'd seen such camps left behind by orcs during the Second War. Chances were good that's what they were dealing with here.

Saire wrinkled her nose, kicking over a large square of something that vaguely resembled wood, if wood was gray and naturally smooth. Dry-rot had mostly destroyed it, whatever it was.

"So if this is a road," her father mused, coming up beside her, "where do you suppose it goes?"

"Why would there be a road in this desolate wasteland unless it went somewhere?" Saire replied. "And since we're headed in this direction as well, the road probably takes us where we want to go."

"Ah yes," Theril leaned down to rub the rotted woodlike substance with his finger, as if trying to discern its nature. If he discovered anything about it, he didn't deign to mention it. "It will be nice to be on a different continent. Assuming they're not all as dreary and hellish as this one."

Saire smiled, and was on the verge of replying when a strong voice called from the front. "Enough gawking! The scouts already went over this camp carefully, and we know everything we need to about it. The commander says march!" Velansar suited his command by nudging his hawkstrider into a swift trot along the lines, his Spell Breakers fanning out alongside him and on the other side of the line as well, chivvying elves back into marching order. Saire did her part by ordering her "apprentice" mages near the head of the line.

At the head of the line, dark and forbidding in his armor and uniform, ratty cloak thrown over much finer ware and with the tattered hood pulled low, Lokiv waited motionless until they were prepared, then without a word turned on one heel and began walking. After a noticeable, obstinate pause, the Spell Breakers at the head of the line started after him.

Saire wasn't quite sure what to make of the human, even after nearly a week in his company. She still came to his tent every night, but it was always Ilinar set to entertain her. Lokiv was usually in the tent as well, and more than once had repeated his nauseating trick of turning his eye into a magical spying device. But even when he was unoccupied he rarely deigned to speak, drawn quietly on one end of the tent, deep within his own thoughts. Whatever those thoughts were, the carefully blank expression on his face and the way his eyes burned with hidden flames made her wonder if any were pleasant.

With a shudder she turned her eyes away from him. There was no scenery to look at, so to speak, so she spent the next few minutes looking at the ground in front of her.

"Spit or swallow?" Hiezal asked, falling into step beside her.

Saire jumped slightly in surprise, then turned and arched a cool eyebrow at the handsome elf. He hadn't deigned to speak to her since their altercation seven days ago, and had avoided her company since except when being in her presence was unavoidable, at which point he pretended she didn't exist. At least the part of her above the neck. "Excuse me?" she snapped, affronted.

"When you eat a bad date. Do you spit it out or swallow?"

She scowled at him. He'd left the question deliberately vague, leaving room for more than one interpretation. She decided to give an equally vague answer. "I wouldn't know, I've never eaten a bad date."

He looked surprised. "Never? I've eaten several. Try to imagine it, at least: it tastes far more bitter than you expected, and it's taking forever to suck the hardness out of it, so-"

"Stop!" Saire said, louder than she'd meant to. Marching ahead Lokiv's bodyguards glanced back at her curiously, and she lowered her voice. "Just stop, you filthy jackass."

Hiezal slowed and turned to face her, genuine surprise on his face. "Our fruit supplies are spoiling, so Theril is giving away the spoiled parts. I wanted to know whether you'd waste any by spitting it out and refusing to eat it, if I gave you some. Fruit is fruit, after all, and if you're just going to throw it away I'd rather save it for myself."

She glared at him. "We both know we weren't talking about any stupid fruit."

"Maybe _you_ weren't." He shrugged. "I suppose that's a no, then. I guess I should be happy at having more for myself." He turned and strolled away, whistling. Saire rushed up behind him and kicked him in the rump, hard, and he went down with a cry of surprise. But rather than getting angry he burst out laughing even as he sat up and rubbed his injury.

"You're incorrigible," she said with a sniff, then turned and stalked away.

"I've always thought "incorrigible" sounded much too much like "encourageable," Hiezal called after her, turning and wandering off down the column with a cheerful tune on his lips.

Saire refused to watch him for too long. Honestly, encourageable wasn't even a word.

As she fell back into line in front of her fledgling mages she drew out her canteen and took a small sip. It was about half full, and the march was about half over; she'd been careful to keep to her ration, since the near disaster with water three days back.

Blame could probably be shared equally between her father, as quartermaster, and the human himself, as their leader. But whoever shouldered the blame, one or both of them had learned their lesson well; at the placid, sacred waters Lokiv had inexplicably and inappropriately named the "Pools of Aggonar", they had not only filled the water wagons to bursting, but also every spare container and even a few watertight trunks and boxes, covering them over with oilcloth if no lid was available.

Even Hiezal had made the sacrifice of finishing off one of his bottles of brandy, of which he seemed to have an endless supply, and filling the container with water. Of course, during the next day's march he'd been so hungover that he'd ended up consuming double his water ration, much of which had promptly found its way onto the scorching stones they walked across when he puked his guts out halfway through the day, overwhelmed by a combination of factors that included the heat, a hard march, nausea and a smashing headache from the hangover, and drinking too much water too fast.

About an hour later, if the sun of this world was any guide, Hardal Dor'ane came loping into view several hundred yards ahead. He waved one hand twice over his head in a sharp gesture, indicating he had important news, and Lokiv lifted his hand to halt the column. "Five minute break," he said tersely, setting out to intercept the approaching scout.

Velansar moved to follow, as well as Hiezal, and after a moment Saire broke away from the line and joined them in trailing some ten feet behind the human. Lokiv made no objection to their presence, either deciding to bring his officers into the loop or simply not caring. Back along the lines her father was organizing the distribution of rations to the weary men. They'd been forced to cut back to three-quarters in spite of the pace they were setting and the nightly drills, but Lokiv didn't seem too worried. When asked, he'd assured them that the end of the continent was approaching.

As she fell into step beside Hiezal, she realized he was eating dates. He would pull one from a pouch at his waist, push it into his mouth with a slow, exaggerated gesture, then waggle his eyebrows at her as his cheeks hollowed in a sucking motion. Saire wondered how funny he'd think it if she set the pouch on fire. Or set him on fire.

"We came under attack, sir!" the scout captain said when he was in earshot, slowing to a walk. Though his breathing was labored, there was a certain controlled steadiness to it that suggested the rangy elf could have been running for ten minutes or ten hours.

Saire gasped, and at her side Nova cursed. Lokiv and Redcrest, on the other hand, didn't appear too surprised at the news. After a moment Saire realized she shouldn't have been either; they were on a road, after all. And getting close to their destination. "Have you arrayed scouts around our forces to watch for potential ambushes?" the human asked coolly.

Hardal nodded. "I've been sending patrols sweeping wide in every direction ever since we started on this road. But after this attack it might be a good idea to send more men and double the patrols."

Lokiv turned to Velansar. "See to it." The Spell Breaker nodded curtly and turned his wheeled his hawkstrider back towards the lines. The human nodded to Hardal. "This attack, then. How many enemies, did any escape, and did we suffer casualties?"

Hardal blinked at the barrage of questions. "Ah. Two ambushers. No casualties, they didn't catch us quite as off-guard as they'd hoped. And we killed them both."

Lokiv clicked his teeth together. "Pity. We could have used some information on what's ahead."

The scout took the words as criticism. "The ambush was well situated. I array my scouts so they won't get caught by surprise, and can cover each other in case of attack. But even so they charged my man Skyring from close enough that they almost reached him before the rearguard scouts could take them down."

The human nodded. "Show me." He turned. "Nova, go get some of my bodyguards and tell Redcrest he has command of the line."

. . . . .

"Orcs," Hiezal muttered, staring down at the two would-be assassins. "I hate orcs."

Not far away Lokiv, who'd been studying the arrow-riddled corpses in silence, turned an annoyed glance Hiezal's way. "Who doesn't?" The bodyguard captain's only response was to glare at the human, obviously wanting to say he didn't like humans much more than orcs. Thankfully he kept his mouth shut; Lokiv had enough reasons to dislike the elf.

In the end Saire, her father, and Hiezal had come, along with two bodyguards. They had walked double-pace for nearly twenty minutes, and by the end of it, following the better part of a day's march, Saire was almost wishing she'd stayed behind and simply got the news from Hiezal when he returned. Hardal had led them towards a little ravine, pointed out the way to them, then rushed off at an urging from one of his scouts.

"Why are they red?" Saire asked, as much to diffuse the situation as to get an answer. "And so freakish big? I've never seen orcs so large."

The human turned his gaze back to the corpses, not answering. Saire had almost forgotten the question herself when he finally spoke. "An interesting question. No reports I've heard of have mentioned red orcs, on Azeroth or during the Draenor expedition following the Second War. It's likely the result of demonic corruption. They're all tainted by pit lord blood."

"Pit lord blood?" her father repeated, sounding surprised.

Lokiv nodded thoughtfully. "Yes. The pit lords have always shown an uncommon interest in orcs. The taint can't be from Mannoroth's blood, obviously, since that pit lord was slain not long ago."

"I hadn't heard that!" her father said, eyes narrowed.

Lokiv glanced at him for a moment. "You wouldn't have. The orcs have been reclusive since fleeing to Kalimdor, and it's hardly a surprise that they haven't kept in touch with the Eastern Kingdoms. Rest assured, however, that Mannoroth's death caused quite a stir among the orcs." He shook his head, turning to once again gaze on the red orcs. "Mannoroth's blood pact was more subtle, in any case, corrupting the orcs in a way most were not even aware of until they were rounded up into the internment camps and the greatest measure of his corrupting influence faded, leading to lethargy."

"I take it this blood pact isn't subtle," Hiezal stated.

"No. Unless I miss my guess, these orcs will have lost much of their higher thought processes, barely a step up from demons themselves. They'll know little but bloodlust and frenzy, although they're likely to be very dangerous enemies, with uncommon strength and endurance. If the pit lord keeps to the usual practices of his kind, these fel orcs will be led by less corrupted orcs who will have been instructed in warlock and necromancer magics by their demon lord master."

"What master?" Hiezal asked. "If Mannoroth was slain, as you claim."

The human shot Hiezal a look of contempt. "The demon lord your compatriots battle by the command of my master, obviously. I've not heard much of him, though I know more than some. He is called Magtheridon, and he's been gathering forces on Outland, likely in preparation for an invasion of Azeroth through the Rift that remains after the destruction of the Dark Portal. Like his peer, he seems to be interested in making the orcs his favored warriors."

There was a low whistle, and a moment later Hardal trotted up to join them in the narrow ravine. "There is a choke point up ahead," he announced. "The mountains around here are nearly impassable as far as our scouts have been able to determine. This ravine my people found might be the only pass through to the other continent."

Lokiv nodded. "Unsurprising. Stormrage mentioned that it was only recently that the gathering of four island-continents overseen by the naaru were rammed by Magtheridon's three loosely joined continents. The impact will have raised mountain ranges for sure, and we're fortunate to find any pass at all, let alone one with a road leading to it. I assume it's guarded by a sizable force of fel orcs."

Hardal looked surprised. "It is. As far as I can tell there's nearly a hundred of these red orcs entrenched behind fairly solid fortifications. I was about to ask if I should set the scouts going north and south in search of alternate routes."

Lokiv said nothing, apparently deep in thought. "I don't think you'll find one," he said at last, "at least nothing easy enough to get wagons through. I know of only one other pass, about five and a half days' travel to the south and east. There Hellfire Peninsula joins up with a forested continent. It's quite strait and narrow, and I have no doubt this pass will be just as difficult."

Saire stared at him in shock. "When did you find time to scout out another pass?" she blurted. Even with his spying eye, he was never at it for more than an hour or so, and there was no way the magical creation could travel so far and back in so short a time.

Lokiv glanced at her coolly for a few moments, then turned to Hardal. "I trust it'll be impossible to traverse the pass by sneaking around this encampment of fel orcs?" The ranger responded with a disbelieving snort. "Good. I'd just as soon not have enemies at our back anyway. And it's always a pleasure to eliminate demons and their servants."

"Do you think our forces are up to the challenge?" Theril asked, looking doubtfully down at the sprawling orc corpses. "These monsters look terrifying even in death. If there are a hundred orcs in that camp, as Hardal says, then we're not only outnumbered but probably outmatched, as well as attacking fortifications. What do we do?"

"The first thing we do," Lokiv said, "is have a look at what we're dealing with. Assuming the road has no further ambushes, Dor'ane, perhaps you could lead us to this place where you got a look at the camp."

. . . . .

The "fortified camp" was in fact more of an outpost. Brambles choked the little pass, with thorns as long as daggers, and a huge swatch of them had been cleared away to make a pathway up to the top of the pass, where it most likely dropped back down onto the connecting continent. But the brambles that had been cleared from the path were arrayed along the top, creating a moveable barrier that looked daunting.

Of course, even living brambles had a tendency to burn well, and dead ones would go up like straw. It had been Theril who suggested doing so, and all had agreed it was a fine idea. Of course, even before her father had spoken Saire had come to the conclusion that doing so wouldn't help them much. The barricade wouldn't be a problem, it was the orcs that manned it they had to worry about.

And standing atop a low foothill to the massive mountains the pass cut through, to the right of the pass and with a gentle downhill slope and then the bramble-choked uphill path between them and the enemy emplacement, they could look down over the bramble barrier and see the enemy.

"A hundred orcs," Hiezal said softly. "They would be a minor patrol force in some of the battles Quel'thalas has fought. But here, with the force we have to go against them, they might as well be a thousand."

"And few even among the orc elite are such massive brutes," the human agreed. "So large a force implies a major outpost, likely Magtheridon's primary guardpost this far from his seat of power, and specifically set to prevent passage between Hellfire Peninsula and the next continent. Our small army of half-trained warriors will be slaughtered if it comes to battle."

"A valid point," Hardal admitted, "though I hate to admit to being overmatched by filthy orcs, of all things."

Lokiv smiled, although none of it reached the endless black holes of his eyes. "Do you know the weakness with defending a choke point?" he asked. "The advantage is that your enemy can only bring so many melee fighters to bear against you. The orcs are superior in melee combat, perhaps even superior to the Spell Breakers whose specialty is destroying casters. Trying to break through their ranks, even if successful, would only pack them in tighter, and our losses would be as great or greater than theirs. Especially trying to push uphill to their position."

"None of those things sound like a weakness," Hiezal protested.

The human turned to her, and Saire gave a start of surprise. "Mage?" he asked coolly.

Saire nodded, understanding his implied question. "If our melee troops can hold long enough for the bloodlusted orcs to pack tight, I and my casters can probably account for a fair number of them. Twenty, perhaps thirty?"

Lokiv shook his head. "Close, but still wrong. Our troops can't hold, not against the ferocity of fel orcs." He straightened. "Scout Dor'ane, fetch Redcrest. We will assemble our forces here, behind this ridge, and create the best fortifications we can along the ridgeline. When they are prepared we will reveal ourselves to the orcs and hold position."

Saire gaped, as did all the others. "Here?" Theril demanded. "There is no choke point here, and a broad gentle slope up to this point from the direction the orcs will be coming from! The orcs will surround us with ease, and it'll be a slaughter."

The fiery points within the human's eyes burned brighter. "You've already made it clear your forces can't do what needs to be done. So have them ready to destroy the stragglers and remnants." He turned back to stare down at the unsuspecting camp. "I'll break these orcs myself."

. . . . .

The mage was right, unfortunately. The best way to go about this would have been to have the blood elves press as far into the choke point as they could, forcing the fel orcs to bunch. If he had any faith that they could manage it he would have done it that way.

The problem was that, after of course they set the brambles ablaze, even at its narrowest the choke point could accommodate a line of around forty people standing abreast, and the way his blood elves were trained and equipped made them markedly unsuitable for creating a phalanx or shieldwall. If they tried to hold the line the fel orcs would just push right through it, and even if he timed his own attack perfectly he could still expect to lose dozens of his troops. This way was slightly better. It would take a far greater toll on him, but if he managed it he'd lose barely a handful of elves. The downside was it would tax him to the edge of his strength and beyond; no matter what happened, after this battle he was going to fall into his regenerative trance.

The one upside was that his Illidari stone was fully charged. Perhaps because of his proximity to his master, or because of some property of Outland, its full power was greater than it had been the first time he'd tapped it. Who knew, perhaps the enlarged pool of corrupt energy was a reward from Stormrage for Nex's continuous efforts on his behalf.

He laughed softly at the notion. Saire, who'd been approaching to report, arched an eyebrow at him. "You find the prospect of our deaths amusing, human?"

"Endlessly amusing. Are your so-called mages prepared?"

She frowned in annoyance. Nex wasn't sure why her status as a scorned potential lover made her feel that she could take liberties with his patience. Perhaps it was simply her personality, in which case it was no surprise a mage of even her talents had been foisted off on him rather than being pressed into Kael'thas's army. "They are. I still fail to understand why you want us aiming our spells at the periphery of their ranks, rather than where they're most tightly bunched."

"If you have a handful of toothpicks and a boot, do you use the toothpicks to scatter a group of ants, then stomp and miss half? Or do you use the toothpicks to prod them as tightly as you can manage before the boot falls?"

Her blue-green eyes flashed. "You have an awfully high opinion of yourself, human. If if your own spells _are _so much more devastating than mine, what makes you think the fel orcs will be foolish enough to clump against spellcasters?"

"Two reasons. First of all these orcs are little better than demons, and I know demons. They rush their enemy by the straightest and easiest path. They'll run through fire to get at a target, if they have to, but if they can run around the fire they will, even if they have to bunch up. I want you to make sure your mages understand that your spells aren't meant to kill the enemy, but to funnel them together."

"And the second reason?"

Nex smiled thinly. "There are warlocks down there, mage. Necrolytes too, I would imagine. While they're still fel and corrupt, the minds of the orc casters won't have been slagged by bloodlust and frenzy like their foot troops. They'll trust to their brutes to sweep us away, while they focus their dark magics on any casters they find among the enemy. It would be nice if you could keep them busy enough that they won't have time to notice me."

Saire shuddered, probably thinking of her untrained sorcerers going up against warlocks. Nex didn't blame her; it was possible that by the end of this battle she'd be the only one of her casters still alive. Assuming she lived.

She left to relay the revised orders to her casters, and Theril approached. "You ready for your part, old man?" Nex asked him.

The blood elf Elder frowned at the insult, but let it pass unremarked. "I have a far better grasp of frost magics than my daughter, although the Circle of Frost matrix was new to me. If I may ask, how did you come by it, since you cannot wield the magics necessary to use it yourself?"

"Knowledge you cannot use still has value." Nex waved his hand impatiently. "Can you make a circle big enough?"

The elderly mage hesitated. "I believe so, yes. But stretched that thin it might do no more than bind those at the very periphery for a few moments. Do you really want me expending all my strength for such a limited gain?"

"Yes. I would recommend making the circle stronger along the front half, where the orcs will be pressing tightest. If they're merely slowed behind it will work, since they probably won't be running until it's too late anyway. And remember, mage: this task is your _one_ duty in this battle. Pay attention to nothing else."

Theril stiffened. "I'm no stranger to duty. If you believe you can manage something like this I'll hold them in place for you."

Nex didn't respond, and the mage moved off looking perturbed. He hadn't anticipated that having to endure his orders being second-guessed at every turn would persist even with an impending battle to give the elves reason not to balk. Even the bastard Redcrest was arguing every point, and the Spell Breaker should have known the value of cohesion and discipline. He almost cursed when he saw Redcrest approaching, gold-trimmed tower shield held loosely at his side, as if the mere thought of him had been a summons. "Are you certain you want us clumped so tight, human? Our bowmen will barely have room to loose arrows, and when the orcs push in at us our melee will be pressed in too tightly to even swing their swords."

Nex pressed his lips together. "That would matter, _elf_, if the orcs made it to your position. You should be far more worried about having your men ready to drop behind the cover of the ridge."

Redcrest scowled back at him. "You're talking about nearly a hundred yards, human. Not even Prince Kael'thas could wield a spell that large."

"It has its limits, Spell Breaker. And it requires considerable preparation, not to mention complete confidence in the battle going as planned. Still, I wouldn't try to put limits on what your Blood Prince can do. Nor, for that matter, on what _I _can do. Now see to your men."

It took longer than he would have liked for the blood elves to get into position, with the Spell Breakers atop their hawkstriders at the flanks ready to maneuver, and the poorly trained recruits forming as solid a line as he could manage with their bowmen behind. They hadn't been able to do much for their defenses beyond stacking up a hip-high pile of stones. Running uphill, he hoped the orcs wouldn't be able to summon the height necessary to vault the barrier. But with fel orcs transformed by pit lord blood, he wasn't sure what to expect.

But finally his forces, such as they were, stood ready. Nex moved openly out onto the ridge, easily keeping his balance atop the shifting wall of loose stones. With any luck all his people would have to do was stand around watching while he and the casters did the rest.

"A signal, if you would, mage," he said to Saire, who stood with her mages divided to the right and left of the center. "A flare into the sky will do." He could have done as much just as easily, but he wanted to save every scrap of power for the task that lay ahead. The elf female nodded and hurled a fireball into the sky, detonating it thirty or so yards up. Even with almost half a mile between them and the outpost he could hear orcs snarling and bellowing to alert their fellows.

Drawing a breath, he formed an complex but not very costly spell to carry his voice over the distance. "Kurgonath du'Magtheridon hai, leshru mishlok nuk busharak kolkan!" he bellowed in Orcish. "Javish'nak halburtad mirs vislok!" Most of that had been pure insult, about the vilest he knew, but the gist of it was that if the peons on the hill were too cowardly to come down to them, they would storm their pathetic defenses and drink their fresh blood from their skulls. Not in so many words, of course.

More bellows of outrage met his taunts, so full of bloodlust they might have been the cries of beasts, but he distantly heard raised voices more lucid than the others calling out orders. Unless the warlocks were fools, those orders would be to remain behind the fortifications. But whatever the orders, the bramble-barrier blocking the path was thrown aside and red orcs began swarming down the path towards them. He turned. "Bring the men up to the wall and let the orcs see them," he ordered calmly.

The orcs flooded down the bramble-choked path with frightening speed. A normal force running at full sprint could cover the distance between them in about four minutes, between going downhill and coming back up, but it looked as if these crazed brutes would cover the distance in two, assuming they swarmed up the ridgeline's hill as swiftly as they'd swarmed down their own. "Dor'ane, prepare your archers. Saire, prepare the mages to loose spells." It would still be a minute or so before the orcs were in range, but with these apprentice mages they might need a full minute. He only hoped Saire had prepared them well enough in the short time she'd had. "Eldre'Theril, Redcrest, the troops are in your hands."

With that he knelt down and began drawing a demonic circle at his feet with the point of his Blinkstrike, infusing power into it as he drew. Though warlocks were not so skilled at teleporting, they were adept at summoning, and the circle was meant to summon him back to this point when he completed the ritual, as long as he remained within sixty yards or so. When it was finished he felt his link to it humming at the back of his mind; all it would take was a surge of power into that link and he'd be summoned back to this point. It was, he thought, a tidy solution to the fact that his Blinkstrike only allowed him to Blink into _or _out of a bad situation. With the demonic circle, he could Blink in and summon himself out again.

Which he'd need to do, since after he was done he wouldn't even have the energy to cast the simplest defensive spell.

The circle complete, he began tapping the Illidari stone and preparing his spell. He'd refined it somewhat from when he'd used it in Dalaran, making it more of a ring expanding horizontally at waist height than a sphere expanding in all directions. It would hopefully have all the power of the other, but with far more range.

He hoped it would have more range, and that the mages and archers did their part in clumping the orcs, because they'd already reached the bottom of their hill and were spreading out to flank their position.

. . . . .

"Loose!" Velansar shouted, and forty bows hummed as one, sending up two flights of arrows. One arched down towards the orcs flanking to the left, and the other towards the orcs flanking to the right. The way they'd been loosed would result in few hits, while most would harmlessly glance off stone. But they had the result of encouraging the orcs, who had seen them coming, to dodge in the one direction available to them: back towards the center. The orcs that had been spreading like a blanket collapsed back into a knot. Another wave of arrows went up, again targeting the periphery and forcing the orcs to remain clumped. But some had seen how few arrows were raining down and were spreading anyway, risking being singled out by marksmen.

Her turn. "Mages, prepare spells!" she called, preparing her own flamestrike spell to strike at a spot where more than a dozen orcs were starting to bulge out towards the left, making the charging clump look lopsided. Even as she called the order she heard Hardal yell "archers, individual targets, as fast as you can manage!" the flights stopped, and arrows began going out in ones and twos from along the line towards the orcs trying to spread out.

"Mages, unleash!" she called, bringing her own flamestrike to bear. The spell was slightly off-target, hitting only the outside half of the orcs she'd been targeting, and only two went down as the rest wailed and collapsed back towards the center once more. Other spells, fireballs and frostbolts and arcane missiles, came lancing out from the mages around her, as well as those on the other side of the center. They, too, were targeting the orcs at the outskirts. Saire began preparing another strike, drawing lightly on her reserves. She wasn't putting her full strength into the spells, since they were more a diversion anyway.

Between arrows and spells they'd accounted for a bare handful of the enemy. She saw less than ten corpses scattered over the ground the red orcs had traversed. And coming in line at the back of the horde of enemy soldiers, twice as far away as their melee troops, were a full dozen orcs wearing barbaric ritualist garb festooned with skulls, feathers, and blood, blood, blood. They had already taken note of her and her mages, and were pointing. Just at the limits of her spellcasting range they abruptly skidded to a halt, joining in a triangle of circles of four with linked hands, and began drawing in power. Massive amounts of fel energy.

"Mages, archers, target the warlocks!" Velansar screamed. He'd seen the danger as well. "Spell Breakers, circle wide around the approaching orcs and go after those casters!"

"Belay that!" Nex bellowed. Saire turned towards him and gasped in spite of herself.

The human had thrown off his ragged robe, and a horrible change had come over him. Horns sprouted from his forehead, and fangs protruded from thin lips pressed tightly together in pain or ecstasy. His dark brown hair had bled to pitch black, and now flames were roaring down the strands to create a fiery mane. His hands had elongated, fingers warping into claws tipped by terrifying talons. His pale skin had also darkened and become smooth and almost murky, as if shadows gathered within his flesh. Those shadows flowed out, making him seem dimmer, and though he hadn't grown any taller or broader he seemed to loom over them all as if he was fifty feet tall. And his eyes, Saire shuddered, wanting to look away, but couldn't. Those endless black pits sometimes showed a hint of flame in their depths, but now there was no hint to the flames: his eyes visibly glowed, burning a brilliant orange-red that reminded her of nothing so much as the sickly green that had emanated from behind Illidan's blindfold. But there was no blindfold holding back that fearsome light. He turned towards Velansar, and the Spell Breaker visibly quailed, actually ducking into a sort of defensive crouch. "Focus all efforts on keeping the orcs clustered tightly!" he bellowed. And the elves obeyed.

Saire somehow found her voice even staring at that terrible visage. "The warlocks are casting!" she shouted. In the sky above them blackness was forming, and fires glowed within that blackness. A single flaming meteor streamed down towards them, and a dozen more began to form.

The meteor struck the line of archers near the back, and she heard screams. Then Lokiv turned that fearsome gaze towards the warlocks. "This will cost me," she thought she heard him mutter. Then he stretched out his hands and a ball of blackness so intense it seemed to suck in the light of the setting sun flew from his fingers. It had an odd way of moving, as if it wasn't moving at all, yet from one moment to the next it traversed the distance to those warlocks a hundred yards away, and it dropped down towards them. The unwary orcs, intent on their spellcasting, didn't notice the danger. More fiery meteors dropped into the elves' formation, and her people began scattering. Then the shadowy ball hit the center of the triangle of four-caster rings and exploded. Orcs went flying in all directions, livid white bleaching their pale red skin, and as they landed and flopped bonelessly it was obvious all were too stunned to move.

Saire dove over the wall to avoid one of the meteors. The nearest orcs were fifty yards out, now, and the farthest less than double that. Some were already flinging crude axes and hammers across the distance, showing incredible strength and accuracy in their throws as elves went down with pained cries. Then she heard an Orcish voice raised in a bellow. "Murgloth iknir! Murgloth iknir dukath!" As she scrambled back over the wall she turned to see one of the warlocks, swaying visibly even from this distance, screaming at the orcs. And as one they responded, the tightly packed ranks scattering, not just to the sides but in all directions as if to avoid a danger in their midst.

She heard Lokiv curse. "Now, Elder!" the demon-human screamed. Then he was gone.

Saire whipped her eyes towards her father. He had apparently realized the same thing the human had, because he was already in the midst of spellcasting; a ring of frost was rising up from the ground around the periphery of the orc group. Several of the scattering orcs were already past his ring of frost and still fleeing, but the rest were, for the moment, stopped, or at least slowed.

With surprising speed a ring of blue-green so intense she could feel it from where she stood sprouted in the midst of the orc lines. It rippled out at waist height, its source hard to see among the tightly packed orcs in the center, but its effects weren't hard to see at all. Orcs went down like wheat under a scythe, and like said wheat they came down in two pieces, neatly vivisected by the horrific spell. Those near the center were almost completely consumed in white-hot flame.

Then she felt a surge of power like nothing she'd ever felt before, and the ring of fire became blinding. She looked away as heat roared around her, and somewhere she heard her father screaming "get down! Get down everyone!" Perhaps she obeyed, or perhaps she simply lost strength in her legs, because the next thing she knew she was huddled on the ground, and agonized screams made the area seem some sort of hell.

She pushed awkwardly to her feet, staring out at the devastated orc group in disbelief. She had known the human was powerful, but nothing about him had hinted at this devastation he was capable of. More and more she was grateful that none of her people had been foolish enough to attempt to kill him or roust him from power, as some of the less sensible had argued for.

The slope below was like a charnel house, with the furnace at the center. Those closest to the spell's epicenter were little more than burned lumps of blackened bone and ash, while farther out blackened corpses lay in two halves. Even almost ninety yards out from where the human had stood living but mortally wounded orcs clutched blackened midsections. More than half were down, obviously dead, while many were horribly injured and screaming in pain or groaning and gnashing their teeth. Near the outward edge of the line orcs were still on their feet, but obviously injured. Only twoscore or so were still alive, and of them maybe half were relatively uninjured.

And then, incredibly, the remaining orcs began to turn back towards the elves, as if their numbers hadn't just been decimated. Raising their axes with bellows of hatred and rage, eyes glowing with bloodlust, they began to charge once more.

The sickly green circle where the human stood flickered, and then Lokiv was there once more. His demonic aspect had disappeared, and if anything he appeared more a corpse than ever. For a few moments he swayed, struggling with his balance. Then he turned to Redcrest. "You have my leave to take it from here, Captain," he said hoarsely.

Then he slumped to the ground.

. . . . .

For a moment more Velansar stared between the unconscious human and the scene of devastation, barely seeming to see the charging orcs in his stunned surprise. Then he snapped into focus. "Archers, loose at will!" he screamed. "Footmen, tighten the line and _hold_." He turned towards Saire. "Mages, you have the warlocks to contend with. Seldan, get the Spell Breakers in order and set them at the warlocks!"

Then he leapt atop the wall, warglaive and shield held as if they weighed nothing. "Come then, foul orcs," he called tauntingly. "Don't think I've forgotten the fair forests you burned and defiled! For Quel'thalas!"

"For Quel'thalas!" dozens of voices screamed back. The effect was somewhat lessened by the fact that half of them were noticeably shaking.

Saire whirled back to the warlocks, and saw with dismay that they had reformed their ritual circles, all but one of them, and were casting once more. Again the skies overhead were darkening. She hesitated for but a moment, then in grim resolve began marshaling her reserves. She'd never countered such a massive spell before, but she wasn't about to let that stop her. Not when her peoples' lives were at stake.

Spells formed by multiple casters working together were much harder to interrupt than spells worked even by a single powerful caster, because most counterspells targeted a single person, turning the magic he was channeling back upon him with such force that he couldn't wield that school of magic for a short time afterwards. Since most spellcasters didn't have the strength or aptitude to use more than one school of magic, countering their spell was generally a major disaster.

She only hoped this was the case here. It was heartening that the warlocks were casting the same spell twice; perhaps they didn't know any others.

First she found the warlock leading the ritual. The power of the other ten casters was coming to him, and he was guiding the spell matrix. Yet he was also protected, because any attempt to counter the spell by targeting him would also diffuse the counterspell through the ten other sources he was drawing from, rendering it useless. The other two ritual circles also had leaders, who were taking the power of the other three orcs in the circle and funneling it to the main caster. She couldn't counter eleven casters at once, but could she counter four?

Only one way to find out. She began chanting the arcane syllables, shaping the spell matrix with her hands, and she channeled most of her reserves into it. Then, with a final cry as much to firm her resolve as for purposes of spellcasting, she flung her power against the might of four warlocks working in tandem. For a moment the powers collided, struggling for supremacy, and then they merged and detonated, flinging Saire backwards through the air ten feet. She felt hands catching her, breaking her fall, but she still landed hard.

Her head was buzzing numbly, not so much pain as shock, and there was a foul feeling permeating her, as if she had taken a bath in rancid oil.

"Are you all right, Mistress Saire?" a concerned voice asked.

Another, a bit farther away but both seeming to come from the bottom of a deep well, spoke in awe. "The rain of fire is dissolving. Did she do that all on her own?"

Saire tried to form a coherent thought. Her own... had she... what? She managed to stagger to her feet, pushing away the hands that tried to steady her, and staggered back towards the wall. The screams, the distant screams, suddenly slammed back into place all around her, and she turned to see a knot of five fel orcs muscle through the ranks of slender elves with their sheer ferocity, weapons flailing savagely. Most of the elves, even packed so tightly, managed to dodge the clumsy swings, and the ranks were closing behind the orcs, hemming them in and striking from all sides. Saire tried to send a blast of fire at the nearest, and the attempt seemed to strike a gong in her head. She wavered, blinking as everything around her split in two and became duplicate images wavering around a center point. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply and forcing some clarity into her thoughts, even as she continued stumbling forward.

When she opened them again she was at the wall.

Orcs fought to press the line all around her, but most were so hampered by wounds that their attempts were mostly ineffectual. She heard a shout for help from the right, as a trio of orcs hardier than their fellows managed to vault the wall and fight behind it.

Down below the site of Lokiv's devastating spell was peopled only by the dead and dying. And farther out she saw the warlocks scattering in all directions, scrambling to protect themselves as half a dozen Spell Breakers swooped in. All but one. She dimly recognized the leader of the group she had targeted for her counterspell. He was swaying, barely on his feet, looking in as poor shape as she no doubt did. Yet somehow he managed to raise his shaking hands and begin casting, looking directly at her. Saire tried to form the matrix for another counterspell, and again her vision doubled and she reeled against an elf at her side, who shoved her away with a curse.

She had interrupted the casting of a fire spell, which left shadow magics. What sort of shadow spells did warlocks cast? She couldn't think.

And then she felt again that sensation that she'd been dipped in rancid oil, but this time it came with an intense agony in her fingers and toes. She forced her eyes open and raised her hands, and to her horror saw dozens of fingers wavering and circling, all swiftly blackening at the tips even as more streaks and lines of blackness began spreading up her hands. She tried to curl her fingers but they wouldn't move, and she opened her mouth and screamed.

Some sort of magical disease, or corruption, a distant part of herself thought. Acid, perhaps, or miniscule creatures eating at her flesh.

Strong hands caught her and shook her, and it was only then that she realized she was still screaming. "Daughter, control yourself," her father snapped. "What has gotten into—by the Sunwell!" The hands abruptly released her, and she looked to see her father backing away from her, eyes locked on her hands and all color leeching from his features.

"Help me," she pled. He began shaking his head, stumbling into the wall and falling back against it. "Fafa, help me!" She hadn't called him that since she was ten, but now she hardly realized, she was in such pain and so frightened. But he simply stared, uncomprehending, still shaking his head. The blackness was spreading up her forearms.

She clawed desperately at her panic, struggling to clear her mind._ Think, Saire_. She couldn't simply sit idle while this corruption consumed her, but their group had no healers, and she could do nothing for herself. Her mind flashed to the human, thinking of the way his left hand had been blackened and near useless when he'd been introduced to them. Day by day, the longer he'd been in their company, the better his had had become, far faster than natural healing could account for. Was it possible he might be able to do something for her?

"Get the human!" she snapped to her father, who barely seemed to notice he was being spoken to. She struggled forward and agony seared up her legs, forcing her to her knees. But she was close enough, and she thrust her decaying hands into his face. "Get the human! He might be able to do something."

Theril flinched away from her hands, then visibly pulled himself together. "He'd never be able to break away," he said heavily. "Assuming he was even in any condition to help you." Her father glanced over to where Lokiv's demonic circle had stood, and she turned to see the human still slumped on his side, motionless. All around that area fel orcs were breaking through, the fighting fierce and desperate. Saire looked at it with despair: her people needed her, and they needed her father. They didn't have time to be distracted by her problems.

"Go finish off the orcs," she said, grasping at her reserves of arcane energy. The backlash of her counterspell had faded, somewhat, and the effort only caused mild dizziness. "I'll keep until you get back." Theril opened his mouth, likely about to ask what she meant to do, but Saire didn't have any more time to waste chatting while corruption spread through her. She had little skill with frost magics, but what she intended was so simple a child could do it.

Undoing it was a bit more complicated, but she would deal with that if she lived.

She drew the heat from the air around her, pushing it away. Her breath misted and her skin prickled out in goosebumps, and she kept going, reaching within her own body for the heat there, starting at her extremities. Ice began spreading up her arms and legs, far swifter than the creeping disease the warlock had enspelled her with. In only a few more moments her arms and legs were entirely encased in ice.

It wasn't going to be enough. The corruption was in her blood, and while it had been spreading through her extremities now that they were frozen it would begin wherever the blood still flowed. Not to mention the fact that staying half-frozen for long would definitely kill her. She closed her eyes, pulling more of her reserves, and in a rush pushed the heat out of the remainder of her body. Ice flashed across her skin, covering even her eyes and making everything blurry. Not long afterwards her thoughts began slowing as the cold enveloped her completely, until her mind barely had the ability to undo what she'd done. She held firmly at that point, not allowing the spread of frost to go any deeper into her. Outside the ice continued to thicken and spread until it formed an all-but impermeable barrier protecting her and preserving her in stasis.

She fought to keep her mind focused, waiting for help to come. Whether it took seconds or hours, it would all be the same to her in this state.

And so it was that she missed the final moments of the battle, when the Spell Breakers finished their slaughter of the warlocks, laughing at the vile magics that couldn't pierce their magical defenses. The line held long enough for the elite elf warriors on their hawkstriders to charge the unrelenting fel orcs from behind, and the foe, wounded and and pressed and down to the remnants of its former numbers, finally broke and fled.

. . . . .

"Human, wake up!" an angry voice demanded.

Nex shut his eyes tighter, head splitting with agony. The loud voice just made the pain worse, although that should have been impossible. He hadn't sunk into his regenerative trance yet, he didn't dare with the battle raging around him, so he was technically awake. But it wasn't a pleasant consciousness.

He didn't think he'd ever pushed himself to this point. Pulling in the barest trickle of power from either shadows or the Illidari stone made his head feel like it was being sawed in half by a dull, rusty knife.

"Wake up, please!"

He finally became aware that there was as much desperation and fear as anger in that voice. With effort he forced his eyes open. He couldn't see anything. Or more accurately, he saw two of everything, where his vision didn't double upon already doubled vision and cause red to creep in and overwhelm him with dizziness and torment. With supreme force of will he managed to focus his eyes enough to see two Therils crouching over him. "Unless we're both about to be slaughtered by orcs," he hissed through clenched teeth, "you're going to regret disturbing me."

The elderly mage was wringing four hands in distress. "The orcs are being driven back, with Hardal and Velansar leading the groups to hunt down those that fled and slaughter them. Most of our mages are dead, and my daughter is about to join that number."

Nex couldn't keep his eyes open any longer against the pain. Every moment he kept them open felt like needles being driven deeper and deeper into his retinas. Not even yanking an eyeball out to create an Eye of Kilrogg hurt this much. "You have my sympathy," he growled. He could feel the regenerative trance closing in, whether he willed it to or not. He was afraid that no matter what happened he was going to be helpless for at least the next hour. In his current state, probably longer.

Fingers grabbed at his chin, yanking his head up off the ground. "I don't want your damn sympathy, human! You healed your hand somehow, we all saw it. Without your help Saire is going to die, and you lose a mage that you can't afford to lose!"

Nex gritted his teeth tighter, although it already felt like they were on the verge of shattering from the pressure. "Talk quieter," he hissed. "Give me details about her condition." If she was grievously wounded there was little he could do with the Ankh, but perhaps...Theril was right about one thing, he really couldn't afford to lose a mage. Especially if most of her pathetic students really were dead.

The village Elder's voice betrayed his relief. "She's been hit with some warlock spell. Disease and corruption are spreading through her, beginning at the extremities. To combat the spread she encased herself in a block of ice, and she's already been frozen for almost twenty minutes. I've never heard of anyone surviving for much longer than that."

Nex nodded slightly, and immediately wished he hadn't. He knew the corruption spell, although it usually acted far too slowly for his tastes. Depending on the endurance of the target it wasn't always fatal, but those who suffered it often wished it had been. For Saire to freeze herself had been a good choice, although who she was hoping could save her was an interesting question.

He could, of course. It was not trivial to cleanse such a taint, but it wasn't impossible. Too bad he was in no condition to do so at the moment.

"Can you help her?" Theril demanded.

Nex had an odd sensation, like his eyes were rolling to opposite sides of their sockets even with his eyelids closed. It was singularly disturbing and unpleasant at the same time. The pain was getting worse by the moment. "I could, if I hadn't just stretched myself to my limits and beyond slaughtering an army of fel orcs."

For a moment there was heavy silence, and he felt himself slipping into the trance. Then, "Drain me."

Nex opened his eyes, agony lancing into his brain. "What?"

A dozen Therils circled overhead. "Drain my mana and use it to help her. I'll recover my reserves eventually, but if she dies nothing will bring her back."

"There's far more peril to you than your mana, Elder," Nex warned. "Having your reserves stolen could trigger an uncontrollable release of your magic addiction."

There was a long pause, almost too long. Then, "I know," Theril whispered, voice torn with too many emotions to name. "I've asked my daughter to sacrifice too many things for my own pride. My will is strong. The risk is small, I think. But even were it not... I would sooner risk becoming one of those foul Wretched than seeing my child die when it could have been avoided."

After a few shallow, pained breaths Nex nodded. "I've never learned how to do this gently," he warned. Then he gathered what reserves he had, drawing more until the pain nearly dragged him into unconsciousness, and lashed out at Theril's reserves. The blood elf grunted, then moaned in pain as Nex drained him. It didn't take long: Theril had used up much of his own reserve casting that chains of ice spell, and what remained was pitiful.

Still, it might be enough. The agony was as terrible as ever, but he could move. He groped out until he caught the Elder's hand. "Take me to her," he commanded. "Slowly...I can't see." Theril dragged him to his feet and led him one halting, agonized step at a time to a spot perhaps twenty feet away. Then his hand was placed on an icy surface. Wincing against the pain he knew was to come, he focused on the female encased inside.

His second sight could see the corruption clearly. It had already spread more than he would have liked, and would be difficult to completely cleanse. But if he could get most of it and dispel the effect her body could do the work of recovering from the remainder of the corruption. Healing would be another matter entirely. He groped into his pocket and drew out the Ankh. "Do you have any experience with healing spell matrices, old man?"

Theril hesitated. "No."

Nex cursed under his breath. As if cleansing the corruption wasn't difficult enough, now he had to first concentrate on the incredibly delicate and complex changes he'd need to make to the Ankh, all while the equivalent of a thousand migraines tried to rip his skull apart from the inside. "I'm going to set this artifact's matrix to heal her specific affliction. All I need from you is to find someone who has a mana reserve, maybe one of the Spell Breakers, and get them to empty it through the Ankh. With the spell matrix preset and as long as they're not stupid enough to tamper with it, it should begin the work of healing her."

The elf hissed in a surprised breath. "You have a spell nature alteration device? Even ones for specific purposes are exceedingly-"

"Not the time to have a chitchat, old man. Shut up and let me concentrate." Biting his lip so hard he nearly tore through it completely, Nex focused his agonized mind into making the complex changes, using his second sight's view of Saire's body as a pattern. It took him far longer than he would have liked, and he could hear Theril pacing frantically not far away. Finally it was done, as well as he knew how to do it and was in any condition to manage. He'd set it to begin the healing process on her hands first, going to her feet if any power remained and the Ankh's matrix remained stable enough. She might have chosen the ability to walk over the ability to cast spells, but he needed a mage, not a ranger. "Take the Ankh," he hissed at Theril. "Wait until I'm done before you have your man use it to heal her. But act quickly, before the corruption's damage has time to shock her system."

"How will I know you're done?"

Nex smiled, though it probably looked nothing like an actual smile. "When I pass out from the effort, you'll know I've done as much as I can. Tell the girl to begin reversing the effects of her ice block spell."

Theril made some response, but Nex didn't listen. He was gathering up the power he'd drained from the elderly blood elf, as well as his own reserves, and preparing the exacting cleansing spell. It wasn't going to be near enough, which meant he'd have a delightful time further destroying his own mind and body to draw the power he'd need. Hopefully that would be enough. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on what he needed to do. Not far away he felt the cold air fade back into the furnace blast of Hellfire Peninsula's unforgiving sun and stone as Saire's ice block effect rapidly dispersed and the woman began drawing in heat rather than pushing it away. His signal to get started. Gritting his teeth, he began casting.

This wasn't going to be fun. Not that it was or had been, but it was about to get much, much worse.

. . . . .

Saire opened her eyes after the various magics raging within her had finally faded. In front of her Lokiv once more slumped to the ground. Had she thought he looked like a corpse before? Now he looked positively deathly, far worse than actual death could do to a person.

With a groan she struggled to rise, and failed. Someone was holding her, and without that she would be on the ground like the human. She still felt as if she was frozen, and her limbs were stiff. Pain still lanced up her legs from her feet, and a sort of numbness had fallen over her hands. She looked down and saw that, while her hands were still blackened with corruption, many of the gaping fissures had nearly closed, and clean red blood was oozing from the rest.

Then she saw hands fumbling with a strip of white cloth over the area, and she winced. "Easy," her father said quietly. "I'm bandaging your hands to protect against infection." His voice changed somewhat when he addressed someone else. "Nova, get one of those brandy flasks of yours and douse these bandages with alcohol. Get her shoes and socks off while you're at it so we can tend her feet."

She heard retching. "I'm sorry," Hiezal panted. "I'll get the brandy, but I can't... not her, not after seeing Undoril eaten alive by the same spell."

Saire couldn't keep her eyes open anymore, but as she closed them she felt a small smile fighting against her grimace of pain. It was almost sweet, the way Hiezal acted. Maybe she would let him back into her tent after all. Of course, she'd make him watch her change her bandages first, the arrogant jackass.

But as she felt unconsciousness take her it wasn't Hiezal who filled her thoughts, but the human Lokiv. She was grateful that he'd saved her life, of course, but that didn't stop the questions. What was he, that he could call upon such vast power and turn into a demon at will? She knew something, something nagging at her. She'd always suspected Lokiv might be the same human who had covered their retreat from undead in the Plaguelands. The magics he bore had the same feel, and he had the same sort of appearance.

But who was he? Why did he care so much about Corona's Blaze that he dogged their steps, even following them off Azeroth and to a fractured world an incomprehensible distance away?


	10. Interlude: Between Continents

Chapter Nine

Interlude: Between Continents

The victorious elves had moved away from the site of the battle to set their camp and celebrate. Even with the setting sun, the heat was enough that the corpses were already beginning to stink, adding to the stench of burned flesh and other offal smells of the battlefield.

Saire had been carried to the new camp, dozens of hands willing to ease her suffering any way they could: set up her tent, fetch her food, or anything else she might wish. In the confusion of the battle she hadn't realized how far out the Spell Breakers had been, but it seemed her counterspell had prevented their forces from being decimated by the warlock's rain of fire just long enough for the caster-killers on their hawkstriders to close the distance. In her own way she was as great a hero as Velansar or Hardal. Which was to say that they cheered her name as long and loud as any but Lokiv's.

The human they mentioned not at all.

Her father had seen to it that a cask of ale and one of cider had been opened from their limited stores, announcing that on the eve of such a victory they deserved to truly celebrate. The hunters had even brought back a few of the spiny red helboars, although the roasting meat was so foul that not even the drunkest and most adventurous of them had tried it yet.

Saire sat apart from the celebration, bundled up warmly against the encroaching cold and with her hands and feet snugly bandaged. She was glad of the bandages; the one glance she'd gotten of her feet was enough to confirm that they were far worse off than even her hands. Some of the fissures in the flesh had been deep enough to expose blackened bone beneath, and she couldn't move most of her toes. For all her father's comforting words, she truly feared she might be crippled for life.

Judging by the comparatively far better state of her hands, she was certain that when the human had set the spell matrix of his strange healing artifact he'd intended to save her hands first and foremost, with only passing concern for her feet. In a way she was grateful to him: she was a mage above all else, and if it was a choice between never walking again and never casting spells again, she would gladly choose the former.

Still, was it possible the human had set a higher priority to healing her hands so they'd be usable swifter over healing her feet at all?

It was unfair to resent the person who had saved her life, but as her feet ached with constant pain she couldn't help but do so. Hiezal had left a cup of brandy with her, enough to put her out since she wasn't much of a drinker, but she had yet to even take a sip of the painkilling liquor. Her erstwhile lover had disappeared into his tent almost as soon as they'd arrived at their campsite, for all his apparent concern for her he seemed unwilling to see her in her current state. And while he'd been largely responsible for the capture of one of the fel orc brutes and was regarded as somewhat of a hero himself, he hadn't taken part in the festivities.

Suddenly decided, she picked up the cup of brandy and downed it in six choking gulps, then with effort pushed to her feet, leaning heavily on the makeshift crutch a distraught Ilinar Montfere had made for her. Her feet felt as if they were being torn apart, but with effort she was able to hobble her way over to Hiezal's tent and slap its entry flap firmly before sliding to the ground.

There was no answer.

She slapped the flap again, getting impatient, then called out "I know you're in there!"

"Oh it's you," she heard him say lazily from inside, although he had paused almost long enough to be insulting. "Come on in."

Growling quietly to herself she staggered to her feet, threw open the flap and limped inside, doing her best with the crude crutch in the small confines. Inside Hiezal was sprawled on his comfortable cot wearing only his underbreeches, plucking at the sparse blond hairs below his belly button with a look of idle concentration. The tweezers he used were gold-chased, and from his familiarity with them it was obvious this was a favorite pass-time.

He glanced up, then winced. "Various gods, Firedge, you're a mess," he said lightly. If she hadn't heard his response when she'd first been healed she might have thought he really was as cavalier as he sounded. "Still, it's good to see you on your feet. I know why you've come."

Saire blinked. "You do?" Was it possible Hiezal had the same reservations about their human leader that she did?

"But of course. You've come to hear the heroic tale of a handsome young elf and his skillful capture of a savage foe. And it is well you did, for it is truly a tale worth hearing." Hiezal began lazily plucking at his hairs as he spoke. "He was a true brute, I will allow. Three hundred and fifty pounds if he was an ounce, all muscle and sinew and unquenchable bloodlust. Now most skilled warriors begin a battle with a degree of caution, circling their enemy and trying to get their measure, find any apparent weaknesses. But this or-"

Saire rolled her eyes as he continued his self-aggrandizement. She should have expected this. "As impressed as I am by your amazing feat, I didn't come to talk about that."

"Oh?" Hiezal took a second look at her, and his eyes widened. "Oooh." With a somewhat longsuffering sigh he sat up, carefully tucking the tweezers away in a pocket of his pack, and began shucking his underbreeches. "I should have expected women bedazzled by my prowess to swoon into my arms. A pity you're in such a wretched state, or I would truly call this good fortune. Still, never say I don't come to the aid of women in distress. Get those clothes off and let's get to it." He paused, and for a moment looked faintly sick. "Keep the bandages on, though. Seeing Undoril dying from internal rot nearly threw off my appetite, and I've been eating bad fruit all day. I don't know if I'd be able to get it up seeing what the bastards did to your lovely arms and legs."

Saire scowled and dropped awkwardly onto the end of his cot, wincing as her crutch banged against her left foot. "Get your clothes back on, you buffoon. I want to talk about the human."

For a moment he looked surprised, and then his face fell. With a somewhat angry expression he began pulling on his clothes. "Having trouble in the sack? Go find a girlfriend to gossip with him about." There was jealousy in his voice, but also something else. Could it possibly be hurt?

She decided to ignore both. "Don't be stupid. I want to talk about the fact that the human covered our retreat on Azeroth then disappeared, was watching our battle against the night elves, and now suddenly he's here, leading us. What does he care about Corona's Blaze?"

"What do I care about him?" Hiezal retorted grumpily. "I don't see what's so great about him."

Saire laughed. It was obviously his jealousy talking, but still. Really? "He turned into a demon and massacred sixty orcs in less than five seconds."

The handsome elf sniffed, idly drawing out a small penknife and cutting his nails even. "More like he ordered all the swordsmen to bunch so tight we couldn't swing our swords, and all the archers and mages to purposefully miss, and then stole all the kills for himself. Besides, can he do _this_?" He began flexing his pectorals, one after the other, so they did a complicated sort of dance.

Saire couldn't help but laugh. "Hurry up and put your shirt on, you idiot."

"You know you like it." But he did as she asked, then sat down next to her. "So a powerful servant of a demon, who can also turn into a demon, is leading us to a demon-fortress we're supposed to take."

"Yes. I think we should find out more about this Lokiv. Starting with his actual name."

Hiezal blinked. "What, you don't think parents would name their kid Filthy Mudman?" She scowled at him, and he shrugged. "I suppose if you want to know, a good source of information is the human himself." His voice took on a somewhat vicious tone. "Maybe you can ask him while he's pawing your sweet flesh."

Saire leapt to her feet. "Just when I was thinking you might be worth letting into my tent," she said angrily. Then she stormed out, slapping the tent flap open and letting it slide shut behind her. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that the best speed she could make was a slow hobble, as well as the yelp she couldn't quite stifle when her injured hand hit a tent pole.

The human's mockery of a tent was over on the other side of the camp, at the outskirts just within the sentry posts, as usual. Also as usual Lokiv's "page" was at guard outside, indicating that the human was within his tent. After this battle, he might even been in the midst of the nightmare state Saire had found him in the first time she'd come to his tent.

Ilinar gave her a confused smile as she approached. "Hello, Mistress Firedge. I wasn't expecting to see you tonight. I'm not sure either of you or my master are in any shape for your daily meeting."

Saire shot the boy a dirty look. "I'm not here for that," she said.

His lips quirked into something slightly more wry than a smile. "Are you ever?" At her glare he shrugged. "I'm just saying that if all this time you've been doing this so people won't be suspicious, coming to the Commander's tent in the shape both of you are in is going to be even more suspicious than not coming."

"And I'm just saying that I'm not here for that," Saire repeated, putting a little ice in her tone. "Please step aside so I can talk to him."

"All right," he said with another shrug. "I should probably make sure he's not sleeping or anything. Not that he ever sleeps." With that the boy poked his head into the tent. Saire heard him curse, and his head whipped back out, a frown on his face.

"What?" she asked.

"He's not in there."

Saire pushed past the half-elf page, wincing as he nearly stepped on her foot, and looked inside the tent. The filthy rags on the cot were disturbed as if a beast had flung them about, but the cot itself was empty. "Damn," she muttered.

Where had Lokiv gone?

. . . . .

"I'm sure I don't know where he is," Velansar said with a sniff, his tone implying just what he thought she wanted from the human. The commander had not taken the opportunity to celebrate with drink, and he was in his small but luxuriously appointed tent writing in a tiny journal. "I don't recall having ever accepted the task of keeping tabs on our commander. In fact, it seems to me that if that task has fallen to anyone, it's you." He gave her a level look. "Or do you truly wish to visit the human's tent every night?"

Saire gritted her teeth. "I don't care what you're sure about. Can you tell me where he is or should I go ask Hardal? I'm sure _he_ would know."

"Doubtless you're right." Velansar turned back to his writing, frowning pensively as if trying to decide what to pen next. "You had best go ask him."

"I will then." Saire tried not to sound to petty when she added. "I don't suppose you know where Hardal is?"

Velansar arched an eyebrow at her tone. "Up on the ridge, inspecting the island we're about to cross over to. Apparently it's quite an unexpected sight."

"Very well then. I'll need to use one of your hawkstriders."

The Spell Breaker arched his eyebrow again. "I beg your pardon?"

Saire motioned to her bandaged hands and feet. "You wouldn't expect me to walk nearly a mile in this state, would you?"

. . . . .

In the end Velansar was good enough to send one of his Spell Breakers along with her, leading her hawkstrider from astride his own bird.

Though she wouldn't admit it, Saire was relieved he had done so. She had a little experience with riding the fierce flightless birds, but was by no means born in the saddle. And with her hands in their current state she wouldn't have wanted to try dealing with reins. Still she supposed she would have to when she approached Lokiv, unless she wanted one of Velansar's men spying on her conversation.

Such thoughts flew from her mind, however, when she reached the end of the pass and saw the continent below.

Velansar had called it unexpected, and it certainly was. In the twilight cool a mist had formed, so thick it was practically clouds along the ground, but she saw enough through gaps to see what awaited them.

Where Hellfire Peninsula behind them was an oven inferno of sere red stone, this continent appeared to be one giant bog. She didn't know how it was possible that there was still water on this shattered world, or why it hadn't long since evaporated under the sun's punishing heat, but there it was.

Above the bluish mud and shallow pools the mist writhed like a thing alive, but rising through the mist giant mushrooms thrust into the sky. Some were larger than trees, their flesh grayish-white and bringing to her mind the woodlike material she had seen at the abandoned red orc camp. The flesh of the largest mushrooms was cracked like bark and their heads covered dozen to hundreds of yards of the ground below. Beneath this shade smaller mushrooms and other varied wildlife teemed in the muck, and she caught sight of actual creatures; the hunters might return with real edible meat soon, rather than the travel rations or the toxic boar meat.

In its own way it was beautiful, an alien sort of loveliness that took her breath away after a land infested with demons and no other living things.

"We won't have to worry about water, looks like."

Saire turned to see Hardal standing a short distance away, having just emerged from a tiny hole among the vicious brambles that choked the pass to either side of the red orc's camp. "Or food," she agreed.

"Right enough. What are you doing riding around on in your state?"

Saire might have been offended by the question from most of the elves she knew, but the scout's calm, likeable manner made it easy to forgive him such minor lapses. "I have to speak to Lokiv on urgent business."

He nodded. "All right. Happens Lokiv was up on the ridge inspecting the swamps below. He wandered off northwards along the ridgeline not ten minutes ago, and last my scouts saw of him he was sitting at one of the lower peaks, just watching and reflecting on this and that."

"Thank you," Saire said. "I'll search him out, then." Motioning for her Spell Breaker escort to move out, she turned and gave Hardal a wave.

"Mage," he said quietly, turning her back before she could press her knees to the hawkstrider. She looked at him curiously. "Are you truly?" he asked.

She didn't need context to know what he was talking about, his inflection and expression filled the blanks eloquently. "If so, it is none of your concern."

He smiled, ignoring her sharp rebuke. She had a feeling few things truly flustered him. "Oh, I know that as well as any. I heard the little lovers spat you had with that fellow Nova over the issue." His expression grew serious. "I ask not for your sake, but for Lokiv's."

Saire quirked an eyebrow, not sure whether to be amused or insulted. "Protecting the youth's tender feelings? What do you care for him?"

Hardal looked out over the swamp, not as deflection but in a cursory sweep, cautious even behind the lines of his scouts. "I've known many humans in my time, mage. Good and evil, noble and base, old and young. They tend to lack the subtlety of elves in their scheming, and the patience in all their doings to weigh consequences. I think in a way that is why they tend to get along so well with all the elder races: even the oldest and most jaded humans have a childlike quality about them. We look at them in our dealings with the amusement and affection we would children."

"A strange attitude to have for humans these days," Saire observed. "I don't imagine it's very popular in the camp."

He laughed. "And how do you feel about that particular point of view, given your own dealings with our leader?"

Instead of answering she turned the conversation back on him. "What was the point of this all? I ask what you cared for him and you clucked like a mother hen taking a duckling under her wing."

"Hmm?" he turned his gaze back to her. "Simply to say that I wonder whether we should even be calling Lokiv "human". There is that about him that seems far too ancient in pain for one of his heritage. And while he is a clever, devilishly clever, manipulator, I have a hard time seeing him looked favorably upon in his dealings. Not even by those who hold humans in high regard."

"Even before our treatment at the hands of the Alliance army, I had met plenty of humans I despised on sight," Saire argued.

"Certainly," he agreed, his tone musing. "But not like this. Never like him. Whatever story he has to tell, not even my curious mind is truly eager to hear it."

Saire nodded, and both she and the scout parted ways without a further word spoken, as if by silent agreement. Whatever story Lokiv had to tell, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it either.

But she was afraid she had little choice.

. . . . .

She found Lokiv just as Hardal had described, on a high ridge overlooking the misty wetlands below. Oddly enough, he had a good dozen rocks up in the air, juggling them in an incredibly complex and intricate pattern. She had seen Hiezal juggle knives as a way of showing off his dexterity, but compared to this display her old friend's seemed like child's play.

Saire dismounted with some effort, waving away the solicitations of her escort. "Please remain here and watch the mounts," she said. He nodded curtly, obviously not happy at being ordered about like a footman, but he settled back to look down at the swamps below.

Saire approached the human, who turned to look at her as she drew closer. "Do you wish to be alone?" she asked.

The human's mouth twisted up in what might have been a smile, if one didn't look to closely. "Always."

"Oh?" Saire couldn't help but feel surprised. "You don't desire the presence of others?"

"Considering the unpleasant companionship I've been forced to endure, most recently singularly unpleasant, solitude is by far the more desirable option."

She didn't quite understand what he meant, and almost wondered if he was talking about their own encounters. "What if the companionship was pleasant?" she said coyly. A thought occurred to her to scoot a little closer to him, perhaps even brush his leg, as she had multiple times when seducing others, but one look at his posture convinced her of the folly of such an attempt.

"I wouldn't know. I have no basis by which to make a comparison."

Saire laughed lightly, thinking him joking, but when he remained still she paused and took a good look at his slack, expressionless face. "Oh. You're serious."

The human finally turned to fully face her, his eyes meeting hers with the force of a blow. Saire tried to hold his gaze, but what she found was so disconcerting that she had to look away, trying not to shudder. She wouldn't have called herself particularly astute at reading the emotions of others through their eyes. At times she considered such an art mere myth, the work of poets and musicians drunk on their overinflated concepts of romance.

Now she realized that there was something to it. Though she had never noticed it, every person's eyes she had ever looked into seemed veritable windows to their every feeling compared to this man's eyes. They showed nothing. Even a corpse's blank stare into eternity gave a hint of their feelings upon death, but this human's eyes were empty.

Instead she gazed out into the Twisting Nether, watching the fearsome beauty unfolding in the form of two clashing netherstorms. "What of when you were a child, human? Surely you must have some fond memory of being with family, with friends?"

Nex, too, turned to gaze out into the blackness. "My childhood least of all," he said quietly.

An uncomfortable silence settled. Saire had not expected such openness from him. There was a sort of languor to him she had not seen before, as if he'd just completed a difficult task and was resting from it. But, too, there was a hint of giddiness to his tone. She had heard the same from elves using tarbeth gel, the drug seeping into their system through the skin and addling their thoughts.

Was it possibly magic addiction that had him so giddy? Whatever power he'd used to incinerate the fel orcs, it had been considerable. She couldn't imagine reveling in the thirst for magic that beat at her thoughts endlessly, but then again she'd never sated it in such a major way.

Whatever the cause, he was speaking, and she had come to learn what she could about him. She moved to sit a short distance away. "You'll find my company pleasant, at the least," she said. "What of your childhood makes it so unpleasant?"

He turned from the view of the marsh and looked at her expressionlessly. "You offer assurances and contradictions in the same heartbeat," he said coldly. "If you wish your company to be pleasant, do not pry into my past. Neither of us will much enjoy the exchange."

Damnation. She couldn't afford to offend him when he was finally talking. "Fair enough. My past isn't such a tranquil garden either, so I can sympathize."

He gave a short laugh that seemed calculated to express perfect mocking disbelief. "I am sure."

"What of the present, then?" she said hastily, afraid he was about to leave or, even worse, dismiss her. "Your display with the red orcs was incredible. I have lived all my life in a city of magic, but have rarely seen such sights. And never such a feat accomplished by one magic user working alone."

For a moment Lokiv was silent, and when he spoke he almost seemed to be speaking to himself. "There is no pride in borrowed power. Less in power forced upon you." Saire could make nothing of the odd remark, and made no reply. But she jumped slightly when he turned to face her again, an oddly intent expression. "Tell me something, mage. When I fully tapped the—that is, when I was preparing my attack on the fel orcs, Redcrest shied away from me as if I bore signs of the Undead Plague."

Saire waited, but he fell silent again. Was there a question in that? He seemed to be asking for something...

Her breath caught in her throat with a loud hitch. Could it be possible the human didn't know about the transformation that had come over him? For a moment she toyed with denying anything, but one look at those soulless wells boring into her warned her away from such foolishness. "There was a change," she admitted reluctantly. "A major change."

"Was there? When I activate my demon skin spell my skin becomes pale and almost scaly, and my-" he cut off, and Saire wondered if he disliked sharing information about himself or was embarrassed in some way. "In any case, was there something of that nature in my change of appearance?"

"Not so much, no."

"Spit it out, mage."

Saire fought to keep the annoyance off her face. "You want to know, human?" she demanded. "You turned into some sort of demon. Horns, hooves, fiery mane and all. It's no wonder Velansar was practically cowering."

Lokiv's eyes narrowed. Then without another word he pushed up into a crouch, fondling the dagger at his belt with the ridiculously large pommel, and in another instant disappeared in a ripple of arcane energy.

Saire staggered to her feet, cursing as agony from her injuries lanced up her legs. Fighting to keep from falling back on her seat, she looked around wildly and out of the corner of her eye caught sight of his dark figure disappearing into the gloom, not towards the camp but walking eastwards along the ridgeline.

. . . . .

_By the Light, boy, what have you become?_

False gods damn. False gods be damned. False gods damn the world in a storm of fire and void. False gods and the world all fall together into the Twisting Nether and be consumed by-

Nex stalked along the edge of a sudden drop, all too aware of the danger to himself. To one side was unnatural swamp, to the other hellfire and a shattered continent. And between them mountains like teeth thrust up towards the emptiness above.

Nex wanted to smash the mountains and the continents and Outland all. He wanted to throw himself off the edge and enact no levitation to save his miserable life. He wanted to have never existed in the first place, which in the grand balance would be paradise compared to the existence he'd been forced to endure.

There was a terrible cost for wielding demonic magic. It changed things. Tainted them. Corrupted them. In clumsy hands the main person to suffer was the caster himself, but even in the hands of an adept the world around his spells wilted and suffered, sometimes in miniscule ways and sometimes in ways as catastrophic as Felwood, the northern Ashenvale Forest where the Skull of Gul'dan had corrupted the very land until it was a vile noxious place. And then, in the end, the corrupt magic took its toll on the caster as well.

Few practitioners of the warlock arts lived to die of old age. Their lust for power either led them to draw more than they could handle, thus consuming themselves, or to summon a demon greater than their power could control, as had happened to his own mistress. If they were wise and cautious, they were generally a fixture in a place long enough for all to learn of their dark truth, at which point they were either slain outright or cast into exile. Those miserable creatures fled to the most remote caves in the highest mountains, huddling miserably until some adventurer came and slaughtered them.

For the truly skilled casters who achieved true power without destroying themselves, they generally drew the attention of other practitioners of the dark arts, at which point they were murdered, their power stolen.

Demon magic corrupted. If not the body or the mind, then the soul. There was a reason the ridiculous Light shunned everything touched by that vile influence: even a hint of corruption tended to spread until it consumed its host, then itself.

But no matter how corrupt the warlock, no matter how vile his magic, Nex had never heard of one drawing in enough power to begin the transformation into a demon form. At least not in any way that could be reversed. It must be a bad sign that while wielding the Illidari stone he had begun to change. And even with all his study, all his delving into dark places, he didn't know how or why such a thing could be possible.

That frustrated him. It frustrated him more than anything he'd faced in a long, long while. It was no consolation at all that when the Illidari stone's power was gone the change reverted, which it should not have done. He couldn't trust to such a seemingly innocuous event being genuine, not with all he knew of demonic corruption: nothing could restore one who has become a demon.

And that terrified him. He loathed all things demonic, including himself and the power he wielded against that which he despised. The thought that he might, through reckless use of powers he didn't understand, irrevocably change himself into a demon was a nightmare he had had all too often.

And now he knew there was substance to those fears.

With an oath he yanked the tie of the Illidari stone hanging around his neck up over his head, holding it in one shaking hand. An insane urge came over him to fling it far, severing its ties to him and preventing him from ever having to face such a fate.

For what seemed an eternity he stood there, hand shaking, a hairsbreadth from death by a precipice to either side, holding death in his hand. And he couldn't.

"Coward," he cursed. He fooled no one but himself with this act. He wished death, so strongly it seemed an ache sometimes, and yet he didn't have the courage to take it for himself. He spoke of seeking it with every breath, looked forward to it with every waking thought, but in the heat of battle he fought desperately to live, and at the mercy of others he talked desperately to turn their wrath. Even the demons he hunted filled him with a terror as great as his hatred.

In his rational thoughts he wished death, but something primal within him balked.

"Coward, he said again, voice thick with self-loathing. "Nex-thanarak shubar'tarul akhet, ni-thanarak ovi'nex. You are nothing. Drawn from the nothingness you remain so, and into the nothingness will you return. Nex si-thanrak shukuk mizh valkn dal, vishtul kuphilok ikthar. World without end."

Breathing ragged, he slipped the artifact back around his neck. He had to shut his eyes to do it, shamed and disgusted by his own weakness.

. . . . .

She had learned some things about the human. Oh yes, she had indeed, more than she had expected when setting out.

But less, as well. She'd had no chance to ask him about his unusual interest in their village. She'd had no chance to make mention of the Plaguelands, or the battle with the night elves, or him being placed over the Corona's Blaze refugees and a bunch of villagers with little to no battle experience being sent off to assault a demon fortress.

Too many things she didn't know. Too many questions. She'd been a student of the arcane for long enough to know that ignorance could be fatal, and that being clumsy in asking questions could get you killed or worse.

She sat in her tent, musing. There was an option, though not one she looked forward to in any way. Still, unappealing as it was it probably offered her the best chance of getting the answers she sought. Assuming there were answers to be had from any source but Lokiv himself.

After long deliberation she went to the wagons and drew out the pack which held her spell reagents. It was a fine thing, carefully segmented into many small pockets and compartments, and by far the most valuable of her possessions. She rummaged around in the main compartment, all the way to the bottom, until her fingers closed around a small silk bag. Grimacing slightly in distaste, she withdrew the thing and returned to her tent.

She had hoped she'd never have to see the bag, let alone use its contents for their intended purpose. She'd entertained many fantasies of using them for a more sinister purpose, and considered it a triumph of good morals that she never had.

On her cot she spread a handkerchief and carefully upended the little bag, spilling out the things inside: a handful of short hair, some of it curly enough to actually be shorthairs and all of it dark and bristly; several flakes of dried flesh; and a tiny vial of blood. As disgusting as the things were, they provided the materials she needed to create a fetish, through which she could form a link to the person the material had come from. She had never delved into primitive voodoo magics, but it was a very simple and easy way to create a link through which communication was possible, a link which could extend any distance. And the components of the spell were ridiculously easy to come by.

The one who'd given her the bag of his leavings and the instructions to create the fetish had likely thought he was favoring her with a gift. He likely wouldn't be so happy in it if he'd known how often she had wanted to use the bits of him to create a synergy doll that she could torment and mutilate, then kill.

It wasn't exactly fair. Unpleasant as he was, the worst he'd ever done to her was humiliate her. But then again, the worst he'd ever done _was _humiliate her, and that wasn't something she forgave lightly.

Frowning in concentration, she pulled out a few of her own long coppery strands of hair, then gathered up a few rocks and cut a scrap of cloth off a rag she used to wash her face. Using these crude ingredients she made a little doll with the scrap of cloth as a robe and the hairs from the bag atop its rock head and along the "chin" of its rock face. Then she formed the unfamiliar spell matrix, using the ritual gestures and patterns she'd been taught. Last of all she tied the strands of her own hair around the thing to bind it to her.

"Chutak himan voobar helis," she murmured, and feeding a bit of her power into it she felt the link take hold.

For a split second she saw double, as if she was looking through the eyes of the little doll, and then the image changed and she was looking at a room too brightly lit to be anything but sunlight, with an arcane tome on the desk in front of her. She felt surprised, and then excited. Sexually excited. She was experiencing the feelings of the person she'd linked herself too. A disgusting notion.

Then the double sight was forcibly stolen from her, and she was left looking at the doll, which was now animate. "Could it be?" the fetish said in Common with clipped, cultured tones. "Young Mistress Firedge, contacting me at long last?"

Saire fought her annoyance. The man was old, certainly, but even so he only had ten or so years on her. It wasn't her fault she was still young by her race's standards, while the slightly older human was ancient. "Hello, Master Oridl," she said politely. "It's good to see you." _Meaning I'm very glad you're speaking through an ugly rock doll, which greatly improves your general appearance._

Humans did not age well. It was almost impossible to see a fat elf, for elvish metabolisms had been refined from millennia of good breeding to be very efficient with food, and not store excess. Certainly in lean times a fat human might be glad of his extra bulk, but most elves would rather be dead than fat, and their genes tended to mirror that opinion.

But even for one of his kind Oridl was fat. Grossly so. If he engaged in even the lightest exercise his flesh became greasy to the touch, and unfortunately the only sort of exercise he'd seemed to enjoy when Saire had known him involved her, forcing her to feel that slimy nauseating sensation regularly.

But it had been worth it for the knowledge the human had given her. Oridl had been passing clever and unusually bookish, and held knowledge and power elf mages five times his age might have envied.

Her words must have sounded sincere, for the fetish seemed pleased. "It's more than good to see you, Saire. Still lovely as ever, I see. Although-" Oridl cut off abruptly, sounding shocked and concerned. "Good god, what's happened to your hands?"

Saire fought a trace of annoyance. Did nobody she talked to care about any aspect of her but her appearance? "That is of little import. There is knowledge I desperately need."

The fetish became attentive. "Of course. I might have to contact other sources to get it for you, but I assure you I am at your service."

"You most likely will have to seek the knowledge out. But I promise you I will be greatly in your debt." _Although to be fair, after what I had to endure with you the scales already seem imbalanced in your favor._

"Let's have it then."

Saire took a deep breath. Questions often revealed as much to the questioned as to the questioner. She only hoped Oridl wouldn't care enough to pry too deeply into her dealings. "There is a human I must know everything I can about. He is currently calling himself Lokiv."

The fetish seemed amused. "Lokiv? Is that a joke?"

_Only on the people of Corona's Blaze_, she thought grimly. "Perhaps. He is in the service of a demonic night elf called Illidan Stormrage."

For a moment there was silence, not pensive but surprised. "You can't be talking about the human traitor Nex, could you?" he said.

Saire blinked. "Nex?"

"Apparently it means nothing in demonic."

"What language does it mean something in, then?" she asked, eyes narrowed. "And why mention demonic at all?"

Oridl seemed annoyed. "It means _nothing_ in demonic, silly girl. As in the man's name is Nothing." Saire glared at him, feeling like an idiot. She'd heard that the effects of alcohol peaked about an hour after drinking it, and it had been nearly that long since she'd begun this torturous quest, hobbling to hell and back on injured feet. Her mind was fogged in a haze of pain and alcohol and more than a little weariness, and she just wanted to sleep. Oridl continued, the fetish managing to convey extreme amusement. "This Nex fellow is actually quite popular among the mage community. I'm surprised you haven't heard of him."

"I've been a bit out of contact with those sorts of people of late," Saire said in a chilly tone.

"Of course, of course. I heard about the elves betraying the Alliance. Nasty business, that, and I'm sure blame can rest on both sides."

"Blame rests on _one_ side, human, and it isn't the elves'. Tell me of this human."

The fetish shrugged. "I've only heard the general information trickling through the woodwork. Apparently he broke into the Stormwind Mage Tower and stole some valuable items from the mages there at the behest of his master, Illidan Stormrage. I'd have to look at the bulletin to be certain of them, since I didn't recognize them the first time I perused it. Also he murdered a mage in the tower, and a few guardsmen fleeing the city, and a party of paladins sent in pursuit of him has gone missing and is presumed murdered as well."

Saire wasn't surprised at the thought of Lokiv, or Nex as he was apparently called, being the cause of such havoc. "I need to know more."

The fetish rubbed at its rock head with a clothy sleeve. "Let me look into the matter more deeply. Contact me tomorrow at this time, that should give me long enough to find out all I can."

"All right." Saire raised her hand, prepared to terminate the link, but Oridl's fetish raised its arm to forestall her.

"Uht uht uht, Mistress Saire. Are we forgetting something?" She looked at the tiny thing in surprise. "Tit for tat, madame."

She wasn't surprised. What did surprise her was that he'd waited until after he'd already given her information to demand a price. "What do you want?"

The fetish's eyes, like miniatures of the mage it represented, seemed to gleam. "I just told you."

"You just..." she began in confusion, and then her eyes narrowed. "Ah." _Tit_ for tat. Was there a male out there of any species that didn't think with the ounce of meat between his legs?

The fetish somehow managed to appear apologetic. "I'm just a lonely old master of the arcane, his apprentice long gone and none to replace her."

In truth she was almost relieved at the price he demanded. She'd done more for less benefit before. And she counted herself lucky that he didn't ask for information about where the elves were or what they were doing. That sort of information she didn't want getting back to the Alliance. "As you wish," she said coolly, beginning to remove her tunic.

Nex, a thief and a murderer. It explained why he'd chosen to assume a false name, since mages were a strong presence in the blood elf community and even if they no longer cared deeply for crimes committed against humans, they would still feel strongly about crimes committed against mages.

Interesting.

. . . . .

Needless to say he was in an even worse mood than usual when he stalked back into camp. The blood elf sentries glowered at him as he entered, and rather than ignoring them as he usually would have done he stopped and glowered back. He didn't know what the two female archers saw in his eyes, but whatever it was made their gazes flinch away. One even went so far as to salute.

It wasn't the first time the force of his gaze had drawn such a reaction, but now it filled him with disquiet. What changes had taken hold of him, that his very look inspired fear?

Nonsense. What soldier didn't grovel before his commander's displeasure? It was simply that, nothing more.

Nothing more.

Theril, Redcrest, and Nova met him just inside the camp. "We have something for you," Nova said.

Nex slowed. "Oh?"

"A gift." Redcrest stepped aside to reveal a bound fel orc.

Nex regarded the creature calmly. It regarded him back with eyes glazed red in bloodlust and hatred, lips pulled back in a snarl around its gag. If it suddenly found itself free, he had no doubt it would attack without hesitation, and not stop until it was either dead or there were no further enemies to attack. With a soft sigh Nex pulled out his dagger, dropped into a crouch, and slit the orc's throat. The elves all gaped at him. "What did you do that for?" Nova demanded.

"A more pertinent question is what did you leave the thing alive for," Nex replied coolly, standing.

Theril and Redcrest exchanged glances. "It's always prudent to take a prisoner," the Elder said, a hint of questioning in his tone. "How else are we to get information that could prove valuable?"

Nex moved his gaze from one officer to the next, wondering what they had to be so confused about. "We know who this creature served. We know its mission and its duties. All of its companions are dead or being pursued, so it can't betray their locations to us. Any other information it might have had is either useless to our purpose or useless altogether." He kicked the corpse onto its back. "Furthermore you were kind enough to save me out one of their grunts, and on top of that a specimen so crazed by blood corruption that even if it did know something useful it would be impossible to retrieve it. You might as well have captured me a helboar and offered to let me question it."

"Forgive us for trying to think like soldiers," Nova said. He sounded far more put out than the situation warranted. Maybe he was the one who'd caught the brute. "I take it next time we should just slaughter everything and hope we're not killing sources of useful information?"

Nex tightened his mouth. "You seem to have an almost limitless ability to make a fool of yourself, Nova." He turned to Redcrest. "In the future an enemy spellcaster or leader would be a more suitable target for capture, but the gesture is appreciated."

A long, uncomfortable silence settled. Then Nex laughed softly. "Well then. Now that that's out of the way I want the rest of the officers gathered. I want a full report on how the soldiers did this battle. If their performance was substandard I believe now would be a good time for extra drilling, while the deaths of their comrades remain a fresh memory to spur them to greater effort."

Theril frowned, obviously pained. "More losses than expected, but fewer than there could have been, my Lord. Three mages perished, and a fourth is so badly wounded he will likely join the others soon. We lost a Spell Breaker, two of our melee soldiers, and five archers. Another half a dozen men are wounded, but none critically."

Nex nodded, feeling infinitely weary. "Take me to this mage. Perhaps I can aid him. The rest of you come as well, and continue the report. The men can rest tonight and celebrate, but in the morning I want back-to-back drilling sessions and a mock battle. We'll enter the swamp the day after tomorrow."

. . . . .

It was several hours past nightfall by the time he finished all his duties. He wasn't sleepy, of course, but still the prospect of sitting quietly in his tent without elves yammering at him every waking moment was a tempting one.

Montfere was waiting in front of his tent, as he should be, but the dagger he usually displayed so proudly, and drilled with so rigorously, was now hidden beneath one of his hands.

Nex slowed, looking hard at his page. Guilt was writ plainly across the boy's face, as well as a sort of flush. Fever, perhaps? Or something else.

"Glad you're back, sir!" the boy said, sounding more chipper than usual. "Saire came by, even though I told her it was more suspicious coming around in her state than not, if you catch my drift."

"Perhaps I do," Nex replied, eyes narrowed. "Something wrong with the dagger I gave you, boy?" Montfere moved his other hand to cover the dagger with both, and Nex none too gently pried the boy's fingers away. "I see," he said coldly. As he'd thought, the dagger's powerful demonslaying enchant had been consumed. The boy's steadiness and euphoria wasn't a fluke, it was a result of Montfere stripping the enchant away and pulling the power into himself. Nex was somewhat surprised a youth so young had managed the trick.

Not that he was pleased. "So you consumed a valuable enchant to feed your magic addiction, did you?"

His page's face crumpled miserably. "It hurt so badly," he said. "I saw what the Spell Breakers did to some of the warlocks they killed, and it seemed pretty easy." It wasn't an apology, or in its way even an explanation. More like a plea.

"I don't care if magic addiction turning you into a Wretched, you don't sacrifice an advantage over your enemies simply to feed it. Don't you think I know it as well as any?" The boy stared at him, misery turning into fear. Nex reached down and grabbed Montfere's chin. His page gave a low cry and tried to squirm away, but he held on tight. "In the future, if your addiction becomes unbearable you turn to me. Is that understood?" Without waiting for an answer Nex infused a portion of his power into the boy. A tiny amount; the boy couldn't hold much, and Nex had no intention of wasting his energy in any case. Still Montfere's cry of fear turned into one of surprise. Nex released him and he fell to his knees. "Now, give me the dagger."

The boy drew it out reluctantly. "Are you going to take it back?" he asked in a plaintive voice.

Nex snatched the weapon out of his fingers. "No. I'm going to replace the enchantment and give it back to you. But I swear to gods that don't exist, boy, if you consume the enchantment again I'm going to drain your mana pool dry and leave you by the side of the road." Montfere grinned in relief and pleasure at having his weapon restored, and Nex wondered whether he shouldn't saddle the boy with some token punishment to teach him. His own life had been so full of needless punishment that such a method had never worked with him. Judging by his master's constant displeasure, it still didn't work.

Still, the burned hand shied quickest from the fire. Didn't he know that better than any? "Go to Theril and tell him you'll be carrying two gallons from the water wagon to the top of the pass and then back down ten times tomorrow instead of drilling. You'll take the same water rations, and not from your own load. Tonight, when the Quartermaster has assured me you did as I instructed without trying to cheat the punishment, you may have the knife back."

Montfere surged to his feet, for some reason grinning wider than before. "Thank you, sir," he said, and rushed away. Nex watched him until he was out of sight, then withdrew a few enchanting materials from his cloak and set about restoring what the boy had marred.

Before, Saire had had only two apprentices remaining. Now she had three. In the morning he would inform her.


	11. The Zangar Marshes

Sorry for another late update, folks. Cataclysm comes out Tuesday and I'm visiting a friend's house where we're going to do some serious gaming. Just a fair warning that I might be too busy with playing to update next Friday :).

Also I got pretty baked last night, so I wasn't in much of a position to finish up my chapter and post it. Hope you all can forgive me.

Chapter Ten

The Zangar Marshes

"Again," Saire said wearily, drawing the wandering attention of her pupils back to her. Ilinar was an unexpected addition, and she wasn't yet sure whether the boy had great potential or was going to be a completely worthless pupil. At the moment she was certain Lokiv didn't care one way or the other; the human had likely fobbed his page off on her to prevent him from any mischief.

She wasn't the only one having trouble keeping her people in line. After drilling for hours after the point they usually stopped even the fear of yesterday's battle was having little motivating effect. The archers had begun engaging in horseplay, shooting arrows at the dragonflies that flitted about the area, likely having come over from the swamps. The targets were too small to hit, but she supposed they were getting some practice in; most of the swordsmen were simply exchanging the same blows with their sparring partners over and over again, becoming more sloppy with every strike.

It was obvious Lokiv was becoming more and more impatient with their performance. He had tried to spur them to greater efforts several times, and at this point his words were barely enough to speed the soldiers in their efforts. "Enough," the human finally said, his patience apparently at an end. The soldiers continued to spar or loose arrows at their tiny targets, as slow and defiant in ceasing to drill as they had been in their practice. It was foolish for them to be more angry at drilling for twice as long than determined to use it to improve, but she couldn't blame them. Even Velansar Redcrest was balking, moving languidly along the lines of swordsmen sparring halfheartedly, not even bothering to chivvy them to greater efforts or reinforce Lokiv's orders for them to cease.

"Enough," the human said again, louder. "Pack up and prepare to move out. We'll make our way into the swamps tonight before we make camp."

Saire sighed. "You heard him," she told her two remaining apprentices and Ilinar. "Boy, help me to the wagons." Ilinar immediately stood and moved over to her, offering his shoulder for her to hold as she struggled to stand. Her feet hurt as badly today as they had the previous night, and it was becoming harder and harder to hobble around. Fortunately training her mages didn't require her to stand, and she had secured a spot next to one of the wagon drivers for the foreseeable future.

The camp came down slowly, the men as languid in preparing to move out as they had been in their drilling. Still Velansar refused to chivvy them, and the human had apparently given up on the notion: he was already setting out towards the ridgeline Hardal's scouts kept secure, leaving Ilinar to strike his tent and see it packed away. Saire took her place on the wagon and tried to doze as the camp was packed away around her. A lurch as the wagon finally swung into motion pulled her back to alertness, and she rode quietly as the supply train made the slow, difficult trek up the steep ridge road between the thorny brambles.

Her wagon was the last in line, just in front of the rearguard, and it had barely reached the bottom of the hill on the other side of the pass, wheels squishing from hard stone to the watery muck of the swamp, when Hardal rushed past her, calling out a warning.

Velansar snapped into motion, languor forgotten. "Soldiers, to arms!" the Spell Breaker shouted, rushing down the line on his hawkstrider. As Saire turned to stare behind them at the threat that had Hardal so unnerved Velansar reached the rearguard, swinging his tower shield off his back and brandishing his warglaive. "Delta formation, as we drilled this morning!"

Saire quirked her lips at that, since even Velansar himself had been lax in pressing the drill, and it lacked the precision that usually made formations so deadly. But her smile died when she looked up at the top of the pass they'd just passed through.

A dozen brown orcs stood along the ridge, equipped with heavy throwing spears with stone tips, as well as bulky stone axes and mauls. While not as large as the fel orcs, there was something about their quiet, threatening stance that made a chill run down her spine. She began preparing a spell even as soldiers rushed around the wagon to take their place in the formation. "Soldiers, prepare to charge!" Velansar shouted, long before the formation was ready.

"Hold!" Lokiv roared, coming up swiftly from the front of the line.

The Spell Breaker drew up in surprise and turned to stare at him. "Hold? Against filthy orcs?"

Lokiv didn't turn his eyes from the brown orcs at the top of the pass. "They are not our enemy. Have you not seen them watching us from the ridges to the north?"

Hardal looked surprised. "My scouts have seen not a sign."

"Then you should chastise them. But nevertheless these orcs have no quarrel with us. If anything, they will be grateful to us for clearing the pass of the foul fel orcs."

"How do you know?" Saire demanded. "For that matter _what_ do you know?"

The human's continued to watch the bunching warriors at the top of the pass. One of the orcs actually saluted, though not in any sort of friendly manner. "I know nothing, but I suspect that these orcs are demon slayers." Saire was shocked to realize that there was genuine respect in his voice.

"What demons?" Velansar demanded.

Instead of answering Lokiv raised his voice, pitched so the orcs above could hear. "Lok'tar ogar, mish duval ektaruk Aggonar!"

To Saire's surprise, the orc that had saluted called a reply. "Aka'Magosh, human! Kel duval mish dae'mon orc hai!"

"Lek thul mishruk du hines jur!" Lokiv saluted, then turned away. "Let's go."

"What did you say?" Hiezal asked, looking up at the orcs who were disappearing behind the ridgeline.

"I told them not to attack us as we left their lands."

Velansar scowled, still holding his warglaive as if he meant to use it. "And they weren't offended by that?"

Lokiv looked surprised. "Why would a warrior be offended when a peon begs to be allowed to run away?" He turned his back on the pass. "Come. The sun is about to set, and the swamp will slow the wagons. We must make haste."

. . . . .

Long after nightfall, with the camp long since set up and the soldiers settled down to sleep, Saire blinked sleepily at an arcane tome she was perusing and tried to stay awake. Days in Outland were shorter than on Azeroth, she had learned via some deductions based on her chronometer, and so the "same time" for Oridl was actually late into the night here. She'd spent the time well, she thought, pursuing other leads than her contact among the Kirin Tor, lest the powerful mage fail to find anything of substance. Unfortunately her own efforts had been less than successful as well: using an enchanted map of Azeroth she'd attempted to create a link with Lokiv, scrying his movements across it, but from this extreme distance and against a person of Lokiv's power, she'd managed to discern little but that he'd spent much of his early years in Deadwind Pass, of all places.

From what she'd heard of the area she couldn't think of a less pleasant place to spend one's childhood. But then, little about the human was pleasant.

"Varie," she murmured at her small chronometer, still set to Azeroth time. It glowed for a brief moment, indicating the time within the Eastern Kingdoms, and she gave a small huff. "About time." She picked up the already-assembled fetish and completed the link, and was afforded the view of a small tent, poorly appointed for one of Oridl's rank.

Then her vision snapped back and the fetish stretched. "Prompt as always, Mistress Saire. A quality I always admired in you."

"Your accommodations seem to have worsened since last I spoke to you."

The fetish managed to scowl without visible expression. "The Scourge is on the move, my dear. I had hoped my little retreat in the boondocks was safe from attention, but Arthas and his lieutenants are personally leading an assault to massacre the peasants of the area. I've been forced to lend my services to the Alliance army in hopes they can restore my lost property."

Saire was less than sympathetic. Though she didn't want to see the Scourge win, of course, she hoped both sides would suffer heavy losses and burn in hell together. "My deepest condolences, Master Oridl. Please, if such terrible events have transpired to grieve you, you must be weary indeed. Let us make this brief that we may both rest."

The fetish waved that away. "Basking in your loveliness is always invigorating, my dear."

"The information, Oridl. Outland days are shorter than on Azeroth, and it is late here."

"Of course. I daresay you put me to a merry chase trying to dig up information on this character. I had to dig deeply through my contacts in Stormwind, including several favors I'd just as soon not pay up on to the Church of Light and their network. But luckily for you I've had a little luck within the Alliance camp, of all places."

Saire blinked. "You have?"

"Oh yes. I mentioned that an party was sent after Nex by the Church of Light, headed by a paladin named Puros Lightfinder of the Order of Turalyon."

"You weren't quite so specific, before."

"As I said, it was a long search. But in any case it seems this character, Nex-thanarak, has left Azeroth completely, followed only by the paladin Lightfinder. The remainder of that hunting party, a fraction of the dozen that set out, has joined forces with the Alliance army."

Saire fought a surge of excitement. It was looking more and more as if this Nex character _was_ Lokiv. "Is there any indication of where they went?"

"One moment, my dear." The fetish slumped to the ground, and for a long minute was still before stirring. "I'm with the leader of those paladins now, a fellow named Jarvak. Quite a friendly sort, if you're free with drinks. He says there was talk of Draenor, the homeworld of the orcs. This Nex was working in conjunction with night elf renegades who've since then been declared outlaw, and the paladin's opinion is his leader was reckless to ally with them. But mostly our paladin friend has had much to say of what a wretched, contemptible fellow this Nex is. He's promised to kill the criminal if ever-"

Saire tuned him out for a moment, caring little for what a human paladin desired. So this Nex had come alongside the night elves. The same night elves that had taken Illidan captive. Yet somehow at the end of it all the human led a force at Illidan's command. Could it be the human had been tasked with luring the night elves' leader to Outland? Whispers heard before they left the main camp had indicated Illidan held a grudge against the creature now inhabiting the cage he had vacated.

Speculation only, and no way to be sure one way or another unless she got it straight from Lokiv, Illidan, or Maiev herself. She had a feeling none of them would be forthcoming.

Oridl had fallen silent, expectant, and she searched back through what he'd said in case she had missed anything. "You said you searched among contacts in Stormwind. What did you learn?"

"Interesting tidbits, only. Nex came to Stormwind to steal from the mages, as I told you. He stole a tome penned by Aegwynn the Titan Slayer, as well as a high elf relic called the Shard of Asteros. While in the city he withdrew funds from the Stormwind bank, claiming Aran lineage. And he-"

"Hold a moment. You mean the same lineage claimed by the conjurer Nielas Aran, and the traitor Medivh?"

"Is there any other influential Aran family?" Oridl asked, the fetish conveying amusement.

Another piece of the puzzle falling into place. Deadwind Pass was part of the lands formerly owned by the Aran family, and home to the fabled tower of Karazhan (sp) which had long been safeguarded by that family of conjurers and wizards. It would also explain the power Lokiv possessed, for the Aran family had been unusually gifted in the arcane. For humans at least.

"Tell me of the human's time in Stormwind."

"Of course." Oridl gave a surprisingly detailed account, gleaned from his sources within the magetower as well as from the Church of Light. Though the human hadn't stayed long in the city, his time there had been surprisingly chaotic. Street toughs murdered, riots incited between the warlocks and the city guards, the powerful wards protection the magetower's main portal itself destroyed and an archmage robbed from his very chambers. All suspect, of course, with no proof offered.

"I'm afraid I've all but exhausted my information," the fetish said in conclusion.

Saire leaned forward over the little doll. "Did you glean anything concerning this Nex's involvement with Illidan Stormrage?"

The fetish shrugged. "Jarvak claims the paladin's party witnessed a meeting between Nex and the image of Illidan when they held him in captivity, before he escaped."

"Before who escaped. Illidan?" Saire had a hard time believing that powerful demon-elf had ever been held captive by a party of humans.

"Nex. Did I fail to mention that before? They actually captured the criminal and held him at their power. He escaped, killing a member of their party as he fled."

Interesting. The human had been captured and escaped? Was it skill on his part, or ineptitude on the part of his captors? "Tell me of all Nex's known abilities." That was important, especially if they'd held the human captive and had witnessed him in action in Stormwind.

Here Oridl was not so certain. According to Jarvak the human had summoned a massive sphere of fire and incinerated dozens of skeletons in the ruins of Dalaran, a feat comparable to his destruction of the red orcs just yesterday. He had also upon escaping summoned a ball of blackness through which no eyes could pierce. In Stormwind he had overloaded the arcane wards protecting the magetower's entrance, had slain a mage, and had put several guards to sleep by magical means. Saire had witnessed Lokiv burning Hiezal's small latent mana pool, and she had watched him summon demons. She had also seen him tear out his own eye and use it to scout.

If those were but the tip of the iceberg in regards to his abilities, his repertoire of spells and ability to manipulate spellforms put him at the level of an archmage. His power was certainly at that level.

"I believe that is all, my dear," Oridl said, interrupting her musing. "Now let us talk about payment for my efforts. I am eager to hear what has become of the high elves since they fled from the mass execution Garithos had planned for them."

"If you're sure that is all..." Saire drew upon her reserves and used them to flood the link, tightening the sympathetic bond between the fetish and the mage on Azeroth. Then she picked the doll up around its waist, none too gently. "We're known as the blood elves now, human. Sworn to avenge the blood of our people, spilled by any who have betrayed us. You want payment? You will have it." As the fetish squirmed, obviously in pain in her grip, she used the finger of her free hand to flick it hard in the face. Oridl cried out in surprise and pain.

Then she threw the doll across the room, severing the link before it struck the tent wall. As it slid to the floor she engulfed the inanimate remains in flames. Perhaps it was foolish to deprive herself of a potential source of information, but she was through kowtowing to humans.

Fighting weariness once more now that the meeting was through, she closed up her bag of reagents and slung it over one shoulder, exiting the tent.

The sky was bright overhead, but little of it could be seen for the night cool that had settled when the sun set, not as intense as on Hellfire but still icy, had lifted a thick veil of mist that stretched nearly up to caps of the tall treelike mushrooms. She made her way through the mists, barely able to see the silhouettes of the tents to either side, making for the wagons. They'd barely entered the swamps, but it was already obvious that moving the wagons through the murk was going to be a hassle: they'd set camp in the driest spot they could find in the murk, but even so her feet squished through several inches of clinging mud. She hoped the damp wouldn't soak through her bandages and cause rot or infection, but she would have to worry about it when she got back to her tent.

The wagons were quiet, the beasts of burden slumbering on their feet with loose hobbles keeping them in place. Saire set her pack back in its place, pulling the oilcloth over it to protect the valuable contents from the damp. As she turned back towards her tent a flash of movement in the fog caught her eye.

She paused, but it didn't repeat itself. Still, she was curious enough to go to where she'd seen the motion. The wagon there was in disarray, the oilcloth thrown back and the bed empty where a good portion of its supplies had been removed. Another flash of motion as she approached alerted her to hunched shapes throwing themselves beneath the wagon, as if to hide from her.

Alarmed, she threw a mana shield around herself and hurled a fireball into the ground beside the wagon. When it exploded the mist was torn away in tattered fragments, and she saw half a dozen froglike creatures huddled there, staring at her with dull, frightened eyes.

"Thieves!" she yelled, preparing another fireball. The frog-things scattered, carrying bundles of supplies they'd stolen from the wagons. "To arms, blood elves. Sentries! Thieves are stealing from the wagons!" One of the creatures stumbled, dropping its pilfered goods in the muck, and as it scrabbled to pick them up again Saire loosed her fireball at it, engulfing the thing in flames.

Then something slammed against her mana shield, hard enough to overload it and deplete a healthy chunk of her reserves, and Saire desperately Blinked forward away from the attack. When she turned to look behind her there was nothing there.

Then she heard the sucking sound of feet running through the murk, and turned to see more of the froglike creatures rushing at another wagon, desperately filling their arms with whatever they could take and turning to flee.

A dozen elves converged on them, swords hacking, and only one of the miserable things escaped with its stolen goods. Another two dropped their armloads of supplies and tried to flee, and the blood elves rushed forward in pursuit.

One of the blood elves, a female bearing two of the night elf glaives, fell forward with a strangled grunt and didn't get up. As Saire hobbled towards her, she saw the murk around her fallen comrade darkening with blood.

. . . . .

_Back to me_, he commanded his eye, putting the minimum of concentration into the spell as he burst from his tent. Luckily his eye was high up, doing an overall sweep of the area before he brought it down to search specific areas, and the path to him was all-but direct.

It was chaos outside, blood elves rushing to and fro, most in the direction of the wagons but some away. For all the pandemonium he would have expected a full-scale attack, but when he reached the wagons all he saw was a handful of the ragged Broken Draenei fleeing with their arms full of stolen articles from the wagon, while blood elves chased them down or loosed arrows at them through the mist.

"Come to order!" he yelled. "Quit running around like imbeciles and form a perimeter around the camp!"

As he rushed for the wagons, however, he felt something like a punch to his back. He lurched forward to the sound of a loud _screech_ as the tip of a blade scraped against the armor hidden beneath his ragged cloak. If it retained any of the properties it had possessed before he'd stripped it of its enchantments, it would turn most any blade.

His returning eye caught sight of a ripple in the air where his assailant should be, there and then gone. Nex pushed into a sideways roll, coming up to his feet in time to catch his eye and jam it back into its socket. White-hot pain arched through his skull, accompanied by a blinding wash of bright spots, and for a moment he couldn't see. He relied entirely on his second sight, and sensed at the last moment the attack coming, this time from the side. He whirled, drawing his dagger and lashing out, and the enemy vanished from sight and second sight both.

With a growl of annoyance he drew the shadows to him and leapt away again. His second sight helped him only at the last moment, when the enemy was already close enough to strike. And even then it was barely a ripple of sensation, not enough to know where the strike would come from.

So he turned to the last place he had seen his enemy, looking through him towards where a trio of elvish archers were loosing at the Broken scrambling around a wagon. "Find Velansar and see to it he's setting up a secure-"

Midword his second sight alerted him, and he snapped to the side as a blade flickered into view inches from his throat. His dodge caused the blade to scrape against his breastplate along the shoulder rondel, and he snapped his hand out and grabbed at the area just behind the dagger. He felt his hands close over something, and he gripped tight and unleashed the spell he'd been gathering, sending a bolt of shadow into the creature in front of him from point-blank range.

He heard a strangled grunt as the force of his spell nearly tore the thing from his grip, and then a shape shimmered into view flying backwards limply as if already dead.

Nex stared at the creature with narrowed eyes. He had unnaturally keen perceptions, and was usually able to detect enemies approaching by stealth, or trying to hide their presence through magical means. But this Broken had moved without alerting his second sight, drawing the shadows around it like a cloak.

That was surprisingly annoying. Shadows were his domain, and not the tool for sniveling little gap-jawed idiots.

A second ripple caught his attention, again coming for his back, and he clutched his Blinkstrike and Blinked directly behind the enemy even as he felt a dagger skitter across his backplate. He slammed his own dagger home to greater effect, and the blurred darkness at the end of his blade dissolved into a twitching, dying brute, the point of his Blinkstrike buried to the hilt at the base of the Broken's skull. It was bigger than the little things pilfering from the wagons like wretched kobolds, and when Nex used his boot to kick the thing onto its back he saw that the poniard it had tried to stick him with was well-made.

A scream from across the camp whirled him around in time to see a blood elf go down with a gurgle, a gash appearing as if from nowhere across his throat the only indication of what had killed him. Nex hurled shadow and flame in a net around the dying elf and another of the Draenei shadowstalkers shimmered into view, caught within the vicious spell along with its doomed victim. The Broken cried out hoarsely in pain and rage. Its eyes turned to spear Nex as it died, and rather than the dullness and apathy he'd seen in that first Broken he'd met, saved from the succubus, or for that matter the Broken pilfering from the wagons, this one's large orbs gleamed with malice and desire to kill.

Nex drew in a deep breath. "Watch your backs!" he bellowed. "Watch for any sign of unusual activity! Shadowstalkers roam the camp, undetectable by ordinary means!"

He heard another scream as if counterpoint to his warning, and another blood elf, this one wielding a night elf bow, went down with blood gushing from her chest. But her companion, standing not far away, immediately struck out with one of the night elves' three-bladed glaives through where it thought the creature should be. He apparently scored a hit, because another of the Broken appeared from the shadows, snarling and holding its forearm. The shadowstalker's free hand flickered to its belt and made a flinging gesture, and the blood elf warrior dropped his glaive and stumbled back, clutching at his eyes and screaming as a white powder blinded him. The Broken slunk away, starting to meld into the shadows once more, and then with abrupt suddenness went flying sideways to slam into the stalk of one of the giant mushrooms, transfixed by three arrows shot by other elvish archers.

Another shout alerted Nex to where the fighting was thickest, and he strode to the aid of his soldiers.

. . . . .

"Take a pilgrimage to the paradise of Outland," Hiezal snarled sarcastically. The last few words were swallowed in a grunt as he lunged forward, sword flickering out to take the head off one of the creatures running away from the supply wagons with its arms full of provisions. The headless creature fell bonelessly, the things it had been carrying scattering in the shallow water and mud and beginning to sink. Hiezal kicked the head in disgust and turned, searching for more enemies as he continued. "If scorching rock and oven temperatures aren't your style, a vacation to the cool marshlands is just the thing. Slog through a foot of muck with the stench of decaying shit in your nose, until you're stabbed in the back by a hillbilly frogman with piranha teeth."

As if his words were a summons the air behind him flickered slightly, and he staggered forward with a shout of surprise. A new crease appeared in his armor, and a moment later blood began oozing from it. Saire held out her hand and released the spell she'd held prepared, sending a narrow gout of liquid flames at the place she'd seen the flicker. The flames splashed over nothing, and then another of the odd frogmen rippled into view, larger than the others and with a more predatory gleam to its eyes, rather than the blank desperation she'd seen in the raiders stealing from their wagons. The creature went down with a snarl, engulfed in flames, and Saire immediately Blinked forward in a random direction.

The best defense against invisible enemies was constant movement and vigilance, something Hiezal should have realized by now. But just to be safe she also had a reinforced mana shield covering her back.

Hiezal lurched to his feet, scowling in disgust at the mud covering his clothes and armor along one side. He didn't look too bothered by the wound, which meant it was probably a minor one, and Saire turned her attention from him to the rest of the battle. If it could be called that, with half the enemy doing nothing but running and the other half impossible to find until they attacked you.

Closer to the camp, between the fleeing frog-creatures and the bulk of the approaching blood elves, a fierce battle raged between invisible enemies and blood elves trying to locate them and bring them down before they were stabbed in the back. Watching a blood elf go down with a gurgle as blood gushed from his throat, no sight at all of the creature that had struck the blow, she wished she was powerful enough to enact invisibility spells.

She wished it even more when she felt her mana shield shudder from a blow to her back. It was too soon to enact an instant teleport spell, having already Blinked not moments before, so instead she gathered frost energy into her hands and dropped straight down, slamming them into the ground and releasing the energy. For five yards in every direction frost spidered across the muck, and she turned to see one of the invisible creatures ripple into sight, his feet frozen into the muck.

"Let's see how tough you are when your enemy can see you," she growled, drawing fire into her hands for a blast of pyrotechnic energy. The frog-creature's predatory eyes widened.

. . . . .

Fires burned in the creature's clothing, preventing it from slinking back into the shadows, but other than that Nex's Sear spell had failed to hit it. The creature snarled at him, hand going to its pouch, and Nex threw up a magical shield just as a spray of black powder fanned towards him. The powder dusted across the shield, then exploded, sending up a bright glare and gushing out a surprising amount of smoke. When the glare faded and the smoke blew away the shadowstalker was gone.

"Oh no you don't," Nex said, whirling to the spot he'd last seen the creature. He had a spell prepared for this eventuality, after last time one of the damned sneaks and slinked away. He flung the ball of shadows he'd gathered, and when it struck the ground where the creature had been it exploded in a shockwave. The air rippled and the creature appeared, flung five feet by the blast before rolling bonelessly to a halt, half submerged in muck.

Nex strode to where the shadowstalker lay on its back with its arms splayed out, stunned by the fury of the shadows. He was intent on the Broken's face, but one of the creature's hands was closing into a fist in the muck. And as he started to kneel, dagger poised, the shadowstalker gave a hoarse shout and flung the fistful of mud at his eyes.

The mud flew true, but a half an inch from his face it struck an invisible barrier, splattering on nothing, and then fell back atop the Broken as Nex dropped onto it, pinning its arms with his knees. The creature stared at him in disbelief.

"Forgot about that, didn't you?" he asked the uncomprehending assassin. The creature snarled some invective, and Nex laughed. "How often do you think that trick actually works anyway? You have warriors who can dodge sword strikes and parry arrows, and you think you're going to hit them with a glob of mud?" Without waiting for a response he drove his Blinkstrike down into the creature's eye.

Standing, he whirled towards one of the little Broken scurrying away from the wagons with its arms full of goods. His Blinkstrike was poise to strike, but just as he lunged forward to land the killing blow filthy water sprayed against his face accompanied by a deafening howl. A gale wind rose all around him, and before he could find the source of the spell and attempt to counter it he was flung up into the air, flipping end over end as if a giant had him in its cupped hands and was shaking him fiercely. He curled into a tight ball, beginning to cast levitation and stabilize himself against the buffeting winds, and then he passed through the eye of the cyclone and into the outer edges, which flung him up and away at dizzying speeds.

He barely had time to see the bottom side of one of the giant mushrooms' cap, from his perspective dropping down to meet him as the nature spell launched him upwards. He flung out his arms and legs in a controlled motion, rotating to get his feet under him just as he struck the spongy porous surface of the mushroom's underside. He pushed off, using levitation to slow his descent, and sought out the spellcaster that had assaulted him.

His enemy wasn't hard to spot: the shriveled figure of a Broken Draenei stood apart from the battle, waving its hands in violent circular motions as it sent another cyclone swirling through a group of blood elves and knocked them flying in all directions like ninepins. One of the blood elves slammed into a smaller mushroom with an audible crunch.

Well, that wouldn't do. Teeth gritted, Nex sent a wave of dark magic to bind the creature's tongue. Then his second sight perceived a ripple directly behind him, and he lunged away in time to avoid one of the shadowstalker's thrusting knives.

. . . . .

Her pyroblast tore through the stealthy enemy with such force that its feet, still rooted to the ground in ice, broke at the ankles as the creature went down. Its shriek was cut short by death with horrible finality, and Saire Blinked forward in case any of its brothers had made a target of her.

"Saire!" Hiezal shouted behind her, and she turned in time to see a dozen more of the creatures, larger than the thieves stealing from the wagons, come charging out of the mists towards her. The hunchbacked thieves fled in the direction of these creatures, gibbering in terror. One, near the back, began casting a spell, its hands glowing green with healing magic and moving in intricate gestures as it sent healing energy over one of the thieves. A visible wound across the thing's thick, fleshy arm began to slowly heal, the healing magic swirling like drifting leaves around it.

Saire glanced back at her fellow soldiers, then to the approaching enemies. "Fall back to the wagons!" she called to Hiezal. She began preparing a spell to at least slow the dozen creatures, a flamestrike to scatter them perhaps, when her precaution and her efforts were both made necessary as Lokiv appeared as if from nowhere in the midst of the charging frogmen.

Even in the midst of the chaos, Saire took a moment to wonder how the shadow magic user managed to wield arcane magic in such controlled Blinks. But it was a worry for another time.

. . . . .

Nex managed to bury his dagger in one of the approaching enemies before they even knew he'd Blinked into their midst. But before he could get off a second strike one of the ones near the back, the healer, yelled a warning and the other Broken scattered away from him, drawing weapons.

He spun, spearing the enemies who surrounded him with a look of contempt. That contempt turned to annoyance when he saw that the wretch he had cut down was back on its feet, wounds closing. Nex whipped his head around to where he'd seen the nature caster, and then burst out laughing, unable to quite believe his luck.

Where the hunched, disfigured form of the Broken had stood, a golden mushroom wrapped in nature energy now bloomed. Spores drifted around it, and at the ground its stalk was split into four sections, allowing it to scuttle about slowly.

The idiot creature. Had it never fought a shadowcaster before?

There were two kinds of creatures capable of planeswalking without the aid of powerful magic: one was, of course, demons; the other was elementals. Demons and elementals both traversed the planes with ease, moving from the corporeal plane to the elemental plane, and other less known planes as well, as naturally as an amphibian would leap from land to water. This great strength, however, was also a great vulnerability, because where they could move freely from one plane to another they could also be compelled to do so.

Druids were gifted with powerful shapeshifting magic. Owls, hawks, bears, dire bears, wolves, and great cats were all forms druids could with practice assume. This was the first time Nex had seen one shapeshift into a nature elemental, however, which was what the golden mushroom essentially was.

"You won't be annoying anyone for a while," he muttered, leaping away from a clumsy attack. In the short opening the maneuver afforded him he gathered his energy into a complex spell matrix that caught hold of the druid's elemental form and thrust it into a plane so alien to the physical one that such concepts and space and time had no meaning. The slowly scuttling mushroom went nearly transparent, and at the same time its motions ceased and it drifted, helpless, not even aware it had been banished.

With the healer gone Nex was able to go to work, darting into swift dodges as the group of Broken warriors swarmed him. He didn't need spells or his destabilized Blinkstrike spell matrix to deal with such clumsy foes, and while these creatures were larger and braver than the raiders pilfering from the wagons, they were still weak and timid compared to fel orcs or demons. It wasn't hard to maneuver around their weak attacks and create openings in their defenses for his Blinkstrike to find a place to drive home.

There were only two left, one limping badly from a deep slash above the knee and the other unharmed, when the brightly varied leaves of druidic beneficial magic began swirling around the wounded Broken. Nex whirled back to the healer immediately.

The weakness demons and elementals had for banishing remained one only as long as they were caught by surprise, before they knew how to block themselves from being flung into other planes, or if the spell succeeded how to quickly move back to the corporeal plane. So Nex didn't try to banish the mushroom form again. Instead he Blinked over to it, kicking its four stubby stalk-legs out from beneath it with one solid blow, and as the thing fell to the ground with an frantic explosion of spore clouds (which Nex was careful not to inhale), he pressed the dagger's wicked edge to the stalk right where it met the cap. "I'll chop you in half if you don't shapeshift back to your natural form," he growled in Orcish.

Either the Broken spoke the tongue, or it had enough sense to figure out the gist of his message, because with a blurring of form it melded back into its original shape, quivering beneath him. Nex looked around for the nearest blood elf. "You!" he snapped, making the female jump and turn to him with wide eyes, kukri knive clutched in shaking fingers. "Keep your blade on this creature, and slit its throat if it tries anything."

The female fighter frowned. "Now you wish for a prisoner, human? Should I not just kill it?" she asked. "Or better yet, you do it and save me the effort?"

Nex snorted. "Sure. I for one am not the least bit curious as to why these little inbred creatures are attacking us, or whether there are more of them out there." He hardened his tone. "Keep your damn blade on the damn Draenei, and you'd better hope to whatever false gods you believe in that it's still alive when I find the time to come back for it." The blood elf subsided with poor grace, moving over to menace the healer as Nex turned back to the battle.

There wasn't much of a battle to turn back to. The thieves had all either died or escaped with their spoils, and the shadowstalkers had vanished, a surprisingly few of them littering the ground for the chaos they had sown. Luckily there were even fewer dead blood elves, thought he had feared the stealthy creatures would exact a greater toll on his forces. The remaining two had fled as well with the capture of their druid leader, one brought down from behind by arrows as he fled.

Surprisingly, Nova was leaning menacingly over the only shadowstalker that remained alive. Maybe the man just liked taking things prisoner.

Redcrest approached from the camp with the several dozen warriors he'd been trying to reach the wagons with as shadowstalkers harried them, having done a decent job of organizing the troops in the chaos. Dor'ane appeared out of the mists flanked by two archers, staring around the scene of carnage where most of the little raiders had been slaughtered with a look of distaste..

Nex turned to him, frowning. "The point of far patrols and sentries is to avert the sort of attacks where the enemy manages to reach our very camp before being discovered."

The ranger had the good grace to look abashed. "This is their home, sir. They knew how to hide in the mists, and my men aren't so alert at this time of night, after a day of drilling and marching.

Nex sighed. "It can't be helped. Bring in the far patrols and have them guard among the tents. Double the perimeter guard as well."

Dor'ane was shaking his head. "But sir, my men are alerted now and will be more vigilant. If we bring in the far patrols and come under attack again the lack of advance warning-"

"The danger of enemies who can shadowmeld and butcher us while we sleep seems a bit more pressing than an attack by enemies we can see," Nex cut in dryly. "Particularly when you've already failed once. Make sure the perimeter is secure and people sleep close to their swords. Put up tripwires and alarms as well, even if it's nothing more than cans tied to strings across the entrances of tents and scattered among them. We were careless up til now, gentlemen: I suggest we remedy that."

Saire stepped forward. "I believe I might be able to create limited magical alarms," she offered. "Lines along the ground and through the air meant to make noise when their continuity is broken."

Nex turned to her, frowning slightly. "You can make such patterns on ground that's little more than mud and water?"

She hesitated. In making the offer she likely hadn't considered the terrain; water and mud were so prone to shifting that they might set off the alarms, eliminating their usefulness and making them nothing more than an annoyance. "I'll see what I can do," she said stoutly.

Nex nodded, dubious but willing to give it a try. "Bring along your apprentices and show them how. We might as well get used to taking such precautions in the future."

"I doubt either Rastiv or Danarie will be able to mimic the spell anytime soon, and Ilinar is a long ways from being useful in any way despite his potential." Nex stared at her blank-faced at her protests, and she flushed. "Still, it couldn't hurt to get them attempting it since the rest of my apprentices are dead; it makes training the ones that remain all the more important." Nex continued to stare at her silently, and she ducked her head and hobbled away on injured feet, calling for her apprentices. He would probably have to use his Ankh on her feet, and soon, to aid in their swift healing. She could ride in the wagons all the way to Tempest Keep for all he cared, but if she was going to be useful she needed to be in better shape.

Nex walked over to the shadowstalker Hiezal had subdued. "My congratulations on capturing such a devious foe, Nova."

The blood elf seemed pleased, although he didn't admit to it. "I don't do it for your regard, human."

"Fair enough." Nex turned to the prisoner, switching over to Orcish. "Do you speak this tongue, creature?" he demanded. The feral assassin glared at him blankly, making no answer. Nex gathered a portion of his reserves and began stripping away the creature's mental defenses, pushing into its mind. There was little there but hatred and bloodlust, fogged by demonic contamination but still with most of its higher brain functions. More coherent than the fel orcs they'd fought the previous day, but for Nex's purposes seeming to know little of use. He could probably glean the location of this group of creatures' home village, but not much else. Still... "Keep it alive," he ordered Nova; with luck, he might be able to glean the secret of hiding in the shadows from the creature's mind. That enough was justification for keeping it alive.

Still, he dearly hoped the healer he'd captured would speak Orcish. Digging into the minds of creatures, particularly those infected with demonic corruption, was as irritating as it was tiring, and he vastly preferred spoken communication.

The druid was where he had left it, its reluctant guard leaning over it with her large kukri at its throat. "Do you speak Orcish?" Nex demanded of it. It glared at him with some comprehension in eyes little glazed by bloodlust. Its ties to nature had protected it from much of the corruption, it seemed. But it made no response. "Don't balk, Broken. I'll use your friend to discern the location of your village, and I'll take my soldiers and slaughter our people down to the last child."

Though it tried to hide the dismay it felt at the words, the druid did a poor job. But it broke down after a few moments trying to match stares with him. "My village have many people," it said haltingly in the orcs' tongue. "You attack with this many, you maybe win. Then my people flee to the murkblood or dreghood tribe and we kill you all."

Nex knelt, waving aside the blood elf with her threatening knife. "Let's start with names, shall we? My name is Nex. You may call me that or Nothing. What is your name?" The creature glared at him, and Nex glared back. "There's no need to make this harder than it is, Broken. A few of your people still live. Cooperate even a little and I'll allow you to tend their wounds."

After a long pause the druid looked away. "Vurgil Mudscraper," he muttered. "I do not know by what name I was called before."

There was deception in that statement, but it seemed not so much directed at him as at the Broken's past. Understandable if the creature was bitter about what had happened to it. Nex nodded. "All right, Vurgil. We might as well begin with why you and your thief and assassin brothers raided our camp." To the side Nex noticed Saire's lips quirking, as if she thought it ironic _him_ accusing someone else of those crimes. It was ironic, of course, but there was no way the woman knew enough of his life to appreciate the irony.

Vurgil scowled. "Thieves and assassins?" he growled, his rough grasp of Orcish and his deformed mouth making the words even more guttural and harsh than they would have been from the lips of an orc. Nex hadn't known it was possible to sound less refined than one of the green-skinned brutes. "You come into our land, and we defend it."

Nex quirked his lips upward in a mocking smile, while at the same time hardening his tone. "Oh yes. That's why you come in the night mists, taking things pell-mell from our wagons and fleeing, while others skulk in the shadows and stab us from behind. Yes, you and your friends are true heroes."

"Is good tactics," the Broken defended.

Nex stood. He wasn't tall, and even this hunchbacked Draenei stood of a height with him. But with the miserable creature cowering in his bindings Nex loomed over him. "Good tactics, fool? Let me tell you something about tactics. I had no quarrel with your people, and would have been glad to make alliance. But thanks to you and your handful of brigands I'm going to send a messenger back to my master, calling for reinforcements. When they arrive we'll have over ten thousand soldiers, enough to comb this wretched swamp from one end to the other. We're going to burn down every village, put every female and child to the sword, and take the strong males as slaves to labor in endless drudgery until their deaths."

"No!" the Broken squealed, eyes wide with horror. "Please understand, Warchief. Since the fall of Shattrath we've been exiled to this remnant of the Zangar Marshes, scrabbling for a living in the mirk. Ogres and gronn have made alliance in the remnants of the Nagrand plains to the southwest and the Bladed Mountains to the north, and whispers are that their Chieftain, mighty Gruul the Dragonkiller, has emerged to lead their forces. They're encroaching ever deeper into our territory, slaughtering us if we flee too slowly and cutting down the mushroom groves for their own purposes."

Interesting. If these Bladed Mountains were the island-continent Stormrage had told him of, the one they had to pass over to reach their destination, the ogres and gronn were likely to be a problem. Particularly if they had a leader strong enough to bring them together.

Vurgil's pleas had continued unabated through his musing. "-to even fight them. To the south Shattrath and remnants of Terrokar are blocked by our own kind, the unsullied ones, who keep us here defenseless against the ogres and pretend it is mercy. When the Hot Red Land struck us to the east we'd hoped to find a place of refuge there, but vile red orcs block the only pass and raid into our lands."

The miserable creature took a shaky breath. "Our raid on your wagons is desperation, but we mean you no malice. The Nightbrothers were told to protect the raiders, and if we could have been in and out without killing any of your people we would have. Please, show us mercy."

Nex fought back a smile. The Broken's tale confirmed his suspicion that the Draenei had dumped their corrupted brethren in this miserable swamp. In his aborted perusal of the area with his Kilrogg's Eye he had seen more than a few camps, so cleverly hidden that he almost hadn't noticed them. That the uncorrupted Draenei had left them alive at all showed surprising mercy for servants of the Light, considering that those folk were usually uncompromising.

His bluff was going well so far. Time to keep pushing. "We have no interest in your people or this Zangarmarsh. We're simply passing through on our way to these Bladed Mountains you mentioned. The pass to the east is open, the fel orcs slain or driven off. And it might be we can still make alliance, if you prove useful."

Vurgil almost wept with relief. "Anything. Anything, Warchief."

"Round up your people and tell them to cease their attacks. Then you, personally, are going to lead us safely through your lands, ensuring we come under no further attack from other Broken tribes. When you have guided us safely to the Bladed Mountains you will be free to return to your people. Under my authority I give you leave to take the pass and traverse Hellfire Peninsula. I advise you take water. And if your people happen to encounter my master, Illidan Stormrage, do tell him that you're at his service."

The Broken hesitated. "I remember Hellfire Peninsula. It was foul place even before the cataclysm that tore Draenor apart."

Nex shrugged. "Go or don't go, it makes no difference to me. Will you accept my offer?"

Still the creature hesitated. "You see any of my kind on this peninsula?"

"Should I have?"

"One of our mightiest Elder Sages, Akama, led many of the Ashtongue tribe's strongest warriors around the red orcs. Master Akama has long hated the orcs who did this to our people, and so rather than directly assailing the guardians of the pass and drawing the eye of their master on us he led his men around to strike them where they are weak." Vurgil's expression fell. "You have not seen him?"

"No. But if he fights the fel orcs and their demon overlord he and my master share a purpose. It might be that they have already joined forces."

The Broken smiled grimly and struggled to his knees, working to straighten his hunched back. "If you slew red orcs and opened our retreat into Hellfire Peninsula we already have debt to you. I swear by frond and spore that I will lead you safely through Zangar Marshes and speed your journey to the Bladed Mountains. Remember us with kind words and mercy, when next you have cause to see your master."

_Kind words and mercy are two things my master knows little of_, Nex thought. But he didn't say it as he slashed through the creature's bonds and helped him to his feet. "If you play me false, druid Vurgil, you will live to see the last of your kind extinguished. Then you will die, and call it a relief."


	12. Double Bladed

Well, the holidays are over and I finally finished a chapter. The next chapter is fairly far along as well, and I anticipate that it'll be out this Friday, as usual.

Merry Christmas, and thanks for your patience over the long delay in updating.

NT

Chapter Eleven

Double Bladed

The artifact was a dodecahedron, twelve connected pentagons of flat gray stone, unexceptional aside from its clean lines and perfect smoothness. And indeed, even some of those who knew the properties of this object, small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, would consider it fairly unimpressive.

When one saw magical artifacts capable of destroying several acres of land, one began to view a little stone, capable of allowing any magic user to heal minor wounds, as something of small value. But obviously Lokiv was not so shortsighted or foolish, for he'd been very loathe to part with the Ankh, the ancient Highborne artifact that allowed those incapable of using nature magic to put their own power through its complex spell matrix and heal wounds.

Two days into the swamps the frog-creature calling itself Vurgil had named the Zangar Marshes, her feet had begun sprouting a horrible creeping fungus that quickly spread over the injuries she'd suffered from the red orc warlock's corruption spell. The spread had slowed when it reached her whole flesh, but with it afflicting her feet she could barely stand without intense agony driving her to the ground. She'd suffered it for another day, and then finally swallowed her pride and gone to Lokiv, asking that he heal her as he had before.

Instead, surprisingly, he had shown her how to manipulate the incredibly complex spell matrix that governed the Ankh's healing energy. He'd likely realized that her condition would require multiple uses of the Ankh, each after an hour's wait for the matrix to restabilize. Then, even more surprisingly, he'd told her to hold onto it until her wounds were fully healed or he had need of it. He had also promised her that if she lost or damaged the artifact he'd toss her off the edge of the continent, and she had a feeling he'd meant it.

What he hadn't told her, what she thought he might not even be aware of, was that the Ankh possessed some sort of passive healing effect. He'd made mention that his demon skin spell provided a similar effect, perhaps more powerful than the Ankh's aura, so it was possible he'd never felt it. Either way, it was amusing to her to finally find something the human didn't seem to know; he was a walking compendium in every other situation.

The result of that passive healing was that the pain was lessened whenever the Ankh was touching her skin, and the wounds seemed to heal on their own about twice as fast as with her body's own recuperative abilities alone. Since the Ankh's healing matrix required a large amount of power to use, it meant that following the times she'd used it the first couple hours to cure the worst of the fungal infection and the damage it and the corruption had done, after that she was able to make do with simply the passive effects and a healing every evening before sleep, to ease her rest. A good thing, too, or her reserves would have been completely drained after the first five or so heals, and her mana pool didn't fill nearly fast enough to use it every hour.

At the moment she was preparing for her evening healing. Her reserves were near full, and should regenerate by the time she woke in the morning. With a bit of concentration she worked her way through the Ankh's confusing spell matrix, making the changes she thought, or at least hoped, would have the most effect on her feet. Then, closing her eyes with a small smile on her lips, she fed energy into it and felt the soothing nature energy wash over her, tickling deep beneath the healing flesh of her feet, almost to the bone. The sensation was not unlike a cross between a warm bath with fizz bubbles and a kitten's rough, dry tongue.

When it was done she sighed and tucked the stone down into her bodice, close against her flesh. It seemed almost warm. Then she slipped into her pallet, pulling the blankets over her, and quickly but steadily drifted into a deep, restful sleep. Another benefit of the Ankh, she believed.

She didn't know how long she slept, but abruptly her dreams were shattered by a clangor like a dozen bells ringing in her tent. She stumbled to her feet with a curse, still mostly asleep, and then staggered to the entrance flaps and half fell into the mud outside.

Something had set off her wards.

The tent next to her was silent, and a ways down the camp she saw Ilinar's dark form huddled against the entrance to Lokiv's tent, asleep. Either only her wards had been set off, or her apprentices were completely incompetent. Either way it was up to her to sound the alarm.

She gathered her power and began to cast a simple spell. Simple when one was awake, that was. In her half-asleep state it took twice as long to cast, and she failed once before managing to make the proper phrases and gestures, molding the spellform. When she finally felt it taking effect she thrust her fingers into the air and sparks shot from them, rising dozens of feet before exploding in miniature balls like goblin fireworks. The sparks made a harsh shrieking noise as they rose into the air, and dull _whump_ noises as they exploded. She heard cries of surprise and alarm from the tents around her.

But before any of her people could rush out into the night she saw half a dozen dark figures fleeing from the tents farthest out. The light of her spell let her see their hunched backs and muddy brown clothing.

She swore. Murktreaders. It looked like Vurgil hadn't convinced the aggressive bastards to make peace after all. But how had they managed to get past the scouts and into the camp? Lokiv had doubled the night patrols and set everyone to sleeping fully dressed and by their weapons, prepared for just this sort of betrayal. She broke into a sprint towards the edge of the camp, having the presence of mind to prepare the spell matrix for a fireball as she went.

Before the shadowy shapes of the Broken had gone more than a dozen paces blood elves began streaming out of the tents in pursuit. It was good to see that even though she and her apprentices had messed up their part of it, the others hadn't. The Broken raiders joined up with more of their kind fleeing from the tents and the surrounding area, bringing the number up nearly two dozen, but though they had a lead on the soldiers streaming from the tents in pursuit, they hadn't gone more than twenty or so yards before they skidded to a halt, then cried out as the twang of bowstrings filled the air. Several went down, and the others milled wildly. Hardal and half a dozen of his scouts melted into view out of the mist, blocking their way. The raiders wavered for a moment, and then the largest of them shouted and charged the elf bowmen. Hardal called out an order, and his men dropped their bows and drew kukri knives, fanning out in preparation to engage. More arrows hissed out of the night, but hampered by the dark and the mist only one of the Broken went down.

Just before the two forces clashed a dozen more shapes melted out of the gloom directly behind Hardal and his men. Saire shouted out a warning, releasing her fireball at the nearest of the new arrivals. It went down with a screech, bathing the area in flickering light and illuminating the new threat clearly. But despite her efforts the elves only became aware of the danger and spun to meet it just in time to be smashed between the two Broken forces. They fought desperately, their agility hampered by the thick mud and slick water, but only one of them managed to break away as the Broken hacked the others down.

More bowstrings twanged, and the elves in pursuit got to within a dozen paces, and then the Broken's leader shouted a command and his forces fled.

A shape appeared from nowhere at the forefront of the pursuing elves. "Fan out and surround them!" Lokiv shouted. "Don't let the miserable rats slink away!"

As the raiders fled other Broken who had been waiting in ambush rose up and joined their fellows, all in full flight. They likely hadn't anticipated such a swift and focused response.

Saire Blinked forward, into the middle of the area where the brief but brutal fighting had taken place. Three of her people were obviously dead, while one was holding his arm and cursing while blood streamed from between his fingers. Hardal was on the ground, curled around a gut wound with both hands pressed to the area, trying to staunch the flow. He looked up as she approached, face twisted in pain, and somehow managed a wry smile that looked more like a grimace. "Looks like we both messed up, ma'am. They slipped right by me, and you were slow with the warning. I saw your signal of enemies in the camp and rushed in just to be caught in an ambush."

Saire knelt beside the stricken woodsman, gently but firmly peeling his hands away from the wound. Blood and mud caked the area, his rough brown garb clinging, and he hissed softly in pain as she peeled it away to get a better look at what she was dealing with. When she saw it she hissed too. One of the Broken had landed a solid slash right across his abdomen, the weapon dull enough to tear the flesh in jagged lines. She saw parts of his intestines peeking through the opening, but thankfully they hadn't spilled out when Hardal was all but disemboweled.

"That leader," the woodsman explained. "Not such a wretch and coward as I'd expected. I was nine kinds of fool to assume they'd break and flee, just because they had before. Let that be a lesson to you: you can only be caught by surprise when you think you know what the enemy will do." He was rambling, face ashen, and the blood continued to flow, mud seeping into the wound and fouling it. "Sure wish we had a healer. Gut wound is a terrible way to die. Slow, too."

"Shh," Saire said, drawing out the Ankh. A brief inspection of the artifact showed that its spell matrix had stabilized again; however long she'd slept, it had been more than an hour. She concentrated deeply, trying to work its complex spell matrix to provide the necessary healing. When she finally had what she hoped was the correct configuration she bled her reserves into it, and Hardal gave a surprised and relieved sigh, visibly relaxing. She saw the skin closest to his intestines beginning to close and smooth over, the color of the torn flesh fading from an angry purple to a more healthy red. The Ankh's spell matrix destabilized, but it was enough to change a mortal wound to one that was merely severe.

Hardal coughed slightly. "Didn't know you'd become a healer when I wasn't looking."

"I didn't," she said, tucking the Ankh into his fingers. "This will provide passive healing. Don't tell Lokiv I gave it to you, and you sure as hell better make sure not to lose it."

Hardal hesitated, then closed his fingers around the artifact. "I'd wondered how you were healing so fast. So this is the secret behind our fearless leader's unnaturally swift recovery as well. Takes away from the mystique when you know, doesn't it?" Hardal sighed softly, leaning back. "Damn little wretches. We kill a dozen when they attack without warning, then spare the rest and try to make peace, and this is how they thank us. And with the edge of the continent in sight, too. I'd hoped we could get out of this damn swamp without being forced into another battle."

"These Broken seem more fit to be called "lokiv" than even the humans," Saire agreed. "Speaking of whom, I wonder if the human will let them go like he did last time."

. . . . .

"Tell them," Nex said coldly.

Vurgil flinched. "I beg you reconsider, Chieftain. Is the death of a few reason to exterminate a tribe?"

The Broken had fled well, their knowledge of the marshes giving them an edge. But Velansar and his mounted Spell Breakers had moved faster, and few races on Azeroth or Outland could outrun agile elves in any environ. While Velansar had herded the two dozen or so remaining raiders, the elves in pursuit had caught up and fanned out, until finally the Broken were surrounded, cornered. They'd tried to break free, and four of them had gone down to a dozen arrows as a result, their leader one of the fallen. Now they huddled in the muck, defeated, realizing there was no way out. At that point, the pitiful creatures had begun begging for mercy.

It was, in truth, much the way things had gone yesterday as well. "I see no young, no females, no sickly," Nex replied. "The Murktreaders aren't a tribe, they're a war party. And they went against the agreement. Tell them."

Vurgil's anguish was so pronounced that it could be recognized even on his ugly, froglike face. "They are my people even so. I do not argue with you, Chieftain, for I know your actions are justified. But mercy can sometimes bring more peace than justice."

Nex fixed the Broken with an unyielding stare. "You come dangerously close to breaking the terms of our own agreement, Druid. It is not too late for me to send a missive to my master ordering this swamp purged of your kind. After the reception the Broken Draenei have given us, it would perhaps even be wise to take no chances in dealing with you further."

The Broken druid flinched again, then reluctantly turned to the cornered raiders and raised his voice. Vurgil's words were halting, hesitant, and Nex had no way of knowing if the creature was correctly translating the message he had been given.

There was always that risk when using a translator. Any method of negotiation had its pros and cons, but giving another his words to speak seemed to have far more drawbacks then benefits. On the one hand there was a certain amount of exotic mystique to a foreign warlord, unknowable and fearsome, giving mysterious words to a cowering messenger to relay. Especially if that messenger was influential among them. But on the other hand there was no guarantee the messenger would be any kind of skilled orator, or that the power and impact of the speech wouldn't be lost in translation. With Vurgil, the latter was almost certain, unfamiliar with Orcish as the druid was. And since Nex was translating his words from the language he was most familiar with, Common, to Orcish, then having a messenger further translate those words to the Draenic tongue, there was double the chance of his meaning being lost in translation.

Perhaps that was the reason the Murktreaders had misunderstood his ultimatum when he had given it to them, yesterday. That or they were complete fools. Assuming Vurgil was at least getting the intent of his message across, it should sound something like this:

"Cowards and Betrayers,

I gave you an opportunity you did not deserve, when last we met. You attacked us without provocation, giving us no chance to explain our presence on your lands. After we repelled your attack we could have pressed our advantage, but instead we raised the flag of truce and offered peace. Enemies greater than either of us threaten to destroy us both, and I offered you the chance to avoid bloodshed on both sides so Murktreader and blood elf could be strong to fight a common foe, be it the orcs or the demons.

"Instead you came at us in the night as cowards and murderers, trying to sneak into our tents and slay us as we slept. You thought us fools, lulled by our truce into unwariness. Sound tactics dictate that even after murdering our people, it would be best to let you live so that you could fight our foes. Diplomatically it would be sound as well, for the others of your kind would see we mean peace with them, even after provocation." Nex could tell when Vurgil spoke these words, because the two dozen cowering Broken straightened somewhat, looking hopeful. Vurgil turned a beseeching look his way, and Nex nodded sharply. With a sigh the druid continued.

"Perhaps peace would be the most noble course. But we come not as ambassadors, but conquerors. Outland is ours, and we will offer no mercy to the weak who will not stand aside." Vurgil ceased speaking, then switched to his broken Orcish. "It is said."

Nex nodded, and even as the Broken began whimpering and mewling piteously, obviously begging once more, he raised his arm and his voice both. "Wipe them out," he called, dropping his arm.

Almost as one, three dozen bowstrings snapped, dark shafts shooting through the misty night. Broken screamed as they were pierced, falling like a stand of young saplings under the blades of a goblin shredder. The few that escaped the first volley tried to flee in all directions, and swordsmen burst through the lines of archers and ran them down, hacking them apart mercilessly. Nex watched it all in silence. There was surprising ferocity in the blood elves, an anger that seemed to await only the excuse to set it free. The hardships they had suffered seemed to have filled them with bitterness, rather than resolve.

It didn't make them as strong, but it did make them easier to control.

When it was done Velansar called an order and the blood elves turned from the field of slaughter, leaving the dead Broken where they lay. Nex walked at their head, not in haste but not dawdling either. Vurgil remained behind, weeping over the dead, with two elves remaining behind to guard the druid and prevent any trickery.

Theril moved up to walk beside him. "A grim business," he said. "I lament its necessity."

Nex wasn't sure whether or not there was accusation in those words. The Elder had proven adept at speaking smoothly, hidden insults and ironies concealed in his polite tone. "I never claimed to be a hero."

"No," the blood elf replied, inclining his head. "I doubt anyone who had cause to know you ever claimed it, either."

Nex turned a cold look at the Elder. "Is Nova's foolish habit of spouting whatever idiocy pops into his head spreading, Eldre'Theril?"

Theril stopped and bowed formally. "My apologies, my Lord."

"Then tell me this; Vurgil may have admitted to seeing the justice of slaughtering his people, but will he forgive it? If we set him free he might run straight to the leaders of the other tribes and prepare them for war against us. I may have bluffed that we have endless numbers of soldiers to put to the task of slaughtering the Broken, but in reality they could prove a threat if they united against us and our Masters."

"That is always a risk in diplomacy," Theril admitted warily.

"Or would it be better to kill him once his usefulness is done, so that none of the Broken know of this slaughter?"

The Elder hesitated, looking pained. "Although I could never endorse such an action, I can see the necessity of it."

Nex let a small smile touch his lips. "In other words you wouldn't kill him yourself or give the order, but you would secretly approve?" Theril's eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to speak, then let it slowly shut. "Vurgil has aided us because we made promises to him. Thus far his aid has been invaluable. Nine days we've moved through this swamp, and the Murktreaders are the first enemy we've been forced to fight. Because of him, we've managed to avoid bleeding our army in unnecessary conflict. But all that aside, if this slaughter has made the druid our enemy and his continued existence proves a risk to Prince Kael'thas and my master's bid for Outland, is it better to slay him?"

Theril's lips pressed together tightly. "I bow to necessity. Though my conscience pricks at it. Better one man dies than two forces destroy each other in war."

Nex smiled grimly. "I disagree. I gave my word to Vurgil, and I cannot break it. No matter what his actions might be after we part, he will leave us unscathed, free to do as he will." Theril again seemed at a loss for words, and his smile widened. "Well. It looks as if you're no hero either." Nex turned and strode away, leaving his Quartermaster behind.

. . . . .

The continent boundary was much different than the other ones Nex had seen.

Which was to say, it was exactly the same in that the obviously massive collision of the two continents had raised an enormous mountain range. But unlike the pass he had seen leading down towards the forests, or the pass that connected Hellfire Peninsula and the Zangar Marshes, it was readily apparent that you'd have to be able to fly to cross this boundary and reach the Bladed Mountains.

Knowing this, Vurgil had led them to a cave. Partly a natural formation where a crack had formed that nearly connected the two continents, the Broken claimed that ogres and gronn had dug for months to make a tunnel of it, allowing access between the marshes and the mountains. Aside from this, only one other place connected the two continents, much farther to the west where a ramp rose up through the mountains, opening out onto a broad plateau on the other continent. It was, unfortunately, the main thoroughfare for ogres traveling between the Nagrand Plains and the mountains, and they would have to fight their way through hundreds of ogres.

Which wasn't to say that Vurgil hadn't warned them to expect a fight passing through this tunnel, as well. But seeing as it opened up into Broken territory, and in fact the Murktreaders had long guarded it, the ogres tended to go with the easier route to the west.

Now the misshapen druid craned his neck forward, peering at the tunnel's opening, which was a jagged hole surrounded by spiny rocks like the maw of some great worm. "I don't like this," he muttered. "Ogres always guard this opening. They destroyed the Murktreader's village not a month ago issuing from this very mouth with half a dozen gronns bolstering their ranks."

Nex frowned. So that was what had happened to the females and young of that tribe. He wondered if he should feel guilty about exterminating them, whatever the provocation. He imagined other humans would have. He motioned Varnil forward.

Kevan Varnil was a stocky elf who moved with surprising grace. With Dor'ane laid low by his wound Varnil had taken over leadership of the scouts. "Investigate the tunnel, but return at the first sign of an enemy presence. Don't engage unless forced to, even if it means full retreat." The elf scowled at him with pure loathing, but moved to carry out his orders without a word. A far cry from Dor'ane's amiable nature. As half a dozen scouts approached the tunnel from either side, moving as stealthily as possible, Nex settled back to wait. A pity he couldn't learn the Broken shadowstalkers' trick of hiding in the shadows, or he could have investigated the tunnel himself.

Behind him the elves had gathered into tight military formation around the wagons. Seated in the back of the lead wagon Dor'ane watched it all with an amused expression. Nex wondered what the cheeky bastard thought was so funny. Oddly enough, the leader of his scouts was being tended by none other than Saire Firedge. It made for an odd picture, since he would have thought the redheaded mage had the nurturing instinct of a tin viper.

"Chieftain, I would speak to you," Vurgil abruptly said. Nex turned to where the Broken druid crouched in the muck, looking equal parts determined and uneasy.

"I wasn't aware we'd stopped speaking," Nex replied.

Vurgil ignored that. "I've done as promised, and led you with all possible haste and safety to the boundary of the Bladed Mountains. It is time for you to honor your word and let me return to my people."

Nex carefully inspected that alien face, from the muddy brown eyes to the spiky teeth jutting from his mouth in every direction. "Of course you may go," he said carefully. "I would speak of the future with you before you leave."

The druid's lips pulled back awkwardly into a smile. "I wasn't aware we'd stopped speaking."

Nex allowed a smile to cross his own features. "I know you cannot forgive me for the death of the Murktreaders, justified as my actions were. I see in your eyes that you condemn me for it."

Vurgil hesitated, then nodded slowly. "The Murktreaders were uncontrollably violent and full of hatred. They had preyed on their own people long before they ever met you. I lament their loss, but I will not let it threaten the peace we have managed."

"Then you will go to your people and encourage them to swear allegiance to my master? Unappealing as the choice may be, I fear there are few other ways to ensure the peace."

The druid paused, obviously searching for words. "I will urge them to keep the peace. I can do no more than that." The Broken shifted uneasily. "May I go?"

Nex nodded. "Winds be at your back, druid."

"Nature's blessing upon you, stranger," Vurgil replied. With a last hesitation, as if he would say more, the druid turned and loped away.

. . . . .

There were those who said that magic couldn't solve every problem. For the most part, these people tended to not be mages. So, in a sense, what did they know about what magic could or couldn't do?

Theril waited at the edge of the camp, watching as the human Lokiv formally released the creature Vurgil from servitude and let him go on his way.

For a long while Theril had wondered at the purpose of the conversation they had had following the slaughter of the Murktreaders. He might have simply dismissed it as a simple one-up contest, since humans seemed so fond of having the last word, except that Lokiv had never seemed to care before what anyone thought. He'd certainly never tried to change anyone's opinion of him.

Since that was the case, why had he condescended to debate morality? That necessity overruled morals was a fact any leader or educated man knew well. The elf that allowed himself to be ruled by his conscience became victim to any who preyed on such standards.

At the same time Lokiv had seemed to talk in circles, justifying the slaughter of those who could have been spared, suggesting that murdering a single druid might spare further slaughter, then saying in no uncertain terms that he was not going to do so. The human had already shown that he was not one to put morals over necessity, so why now was he suddenly playing the part of a paladin?

An odd conundrum, and odder still since Theril had spent much of his time pondering just such situations. He'd long ago come to conclude that peace was not possible on the world they lived on. He had understood this even before the Dark Portal had opened and orcs had come to ravage their homes. Excluding orcs entirely from the equation changed nothing; still with so many races living together in uneasy prejudice, unable or unwilling to understand one another or assume anything but the worst about the other's intents, there was no hope for anything but constant war and turmoil. Fools spoke of peace, freedom, and prosperity, as if simply by believing hard enough they could bring those things to the world. But the only freedom one could find on Azeroth came from having an unassailable position of power, likely one that stripped away the freedoms of those who were weaker. Prosperity came only from taking that which others sought to hoard, hardening yourself to the pitiable wails of starving younglings of another race.

And peace? That most elusive of goals. It came only when your race stood atop the corpses of every other member of every other race. True peace would never be known on Azeroth until the wars had played out and only one race remained, victorious, as overlords.

He had tested Lokiv through careful accusations and subtle prying, and was certain the human understood this as well. Why, then, had Lokiv concluded that Vurgil must be allowed to leave and rally the Broken to whatever mischief the wretched creature had planned? This was the question which had kept Theril awake all night, and in the end the answer had been almost laughably simple.

Demonologists and those who tapped dark magics began to take on many of the aspects of the corrupt creatures they idolized. Their power came with strings, as any power was bound to. One such string was that their oaths were binding, no matter how ludicrous, poorly thought out, or impossible to fulfill that oath might be. Lokiv refused to kill the druid because he couldn't. He had given an oath to let the druid be, and unless Vurgil directly threatened him that oath would remain absolute.

That was the point of the conversation they had had. Theril was certain of it. Lokiv had been indirectly ordering him to murder the Broken as soon as he was released from the human's protection. Theril was no hero, as the human had said, and he understood necessity. That was his hint that the task of silencing the Broken had fallen on his shoulders. What the human was by oath unable to imply, Theril could still infer.

At the entrance to the cave Vurgil bowed to the human and turned, scuttling away in that disgusting, hunchbacked shamble his kind adopted. Miserable wretches, as violent as they were ungainly. Their race should be one of the first to perish when the elves claimed Outland. Theril called upon his highest ability to manipulate arcane energies, altering the spacetime around him so light and sound would pass through the area he occupied as if he were not there, affording complete invisibility. He was proud of his daughter, and indeed in raw power she surpassed him, but he had been master of the arcane for a long, long time, and could do things she could not.

In perfect silence he followed the Broken as it fled, its direction taking it straight towards one of the collections of crude hovels they had passed three days back. Vurgil had led them around that "village" undetected, but now obviously he had business there. Theril could guess what that was.

For ten minutes they passed through the swamps, the druid moving in haste, with the invisible elf following close behind. At that point Theril judged that they were away from even the farthest of Dor'ane's scout patrols, and none would know what he did. With a deep breath he summoned arcane energy, subtly shifting the direction he was facing to bring him in line with his victim. Then he Blinked, his invisibility spell shattering, and appeared directly behind the unwary creature.

Vurgil gave a squeak and started to whirl, already beginning to shapeshift, but Theril gave the druid no time. He summoned a wave of fire energy to blast out in all directions, washing over his victim. Vurgil burst into flames, shrieking in a horrible, gurgling way as his wits abandoned him, leaving him to rush this way and that, beating helplessly at the flames. It didn't even occur to the creature in its dazed state to drop to the ground and roll in the mud. Perhaps the flames might have done the job for him, but Theril wanted no evidence left behind of his deed. No suspicion that could fall upon him. He began the slow, lengthy process of casting a pyroblast spell, in no hurry as the seconds slipped by. When it was complete, as powerful as he could make it, he unleashed it on the Broken that still wandered aimlessly. The fires engulfed it, consuming it down to the bone and beyond as Theril continued to pour heat into the spell. Finally only ash was left to drift away.

Exhausted, his reserves spent, Theril turned and walked back to camp. If Lokiv learned of this deed he might think Theril had done it for him, or at least at his unspoken behest. But Theril knew better.

No Broken army would gather to assail his people. When it came time to eliminate the frog-creatures they would fall upon them piecemeal, unawares in their little hovels, unable to provide even token resistance to the complete annihilation of their kind. The blood elves would conquer this world, as they must. After all the hardships they had suffered, his people would know peace in the only way possible.

Standing atop the corpses of every other race on Outland.

. . . . .

The scouts had long since returned from the tunnel, reporting that it was empty of anything but old signs of habitation. Just in case, a few of the scouts had set up at the far end of the tunnel to make sure it remained clear.

And, showing that irritating lack of responsibility that suggested he could at any time and without remorse walk away from his duties as leader, Lokiv had ordered the army to begin making their way through the tunnel, then had disappeared up it, leaving Velansar and her father to chivvy the troops into motion.

Though it had been days since her injuries and infection had been severe enough to confine her to the wagons, Saire once again found herself riding in one, doing her best to minister to wounded Hardal. She didn't know what had prompted her to take such an interest. Probably some twisted version of the finder's keepers principle: nobody else was going to help Hardal unless ordered to do so, and she was the one who'd first assisted him.

Which wasn't to say the rangy woodsman wasn't an amiable companion. He was sleeping at the moment, lying peacefully with clean bandages across his midsection, the Ankh held loosely in one hand. Saire had used it a couple times since the first to ease his wounds, but he'd gotten to the point where the passive healing was enough to keep him out of danger, and he seemed fairly resilient. With any luck he'd be on his feet in another week or so.

Which left her in relative isolation, driving the wagon through the dim tunnel, with only a few guttering torches the elves had improvised to light the way. Aside from a few spiders the tunnel seemed unoccupied, although at one point they passed a grotto to the left which was filled with signs of a long-term camp, long since abandoned. By the filth and refuse, it had either been occupied by ogres or orcs that were particularly slovenly even for their kind.

After what seemed like an eternity of driving, navigating rough patches on the cave floor and at a few points requiring lifting and pushing to get the wagon past even rougher spots, she finally guided the team through the other entrance and out onto a fairly large flat area. The oxen seemed relieved to be out of the dark, willingly moving where she guided them with the goad. In the weeks she'd been laid up in the wagon she'd actually become fairly skilled at driving the beasts.

But if the beasts were relieved, few of her companions were. The flat area they'd come out into rose into steep cliffs on every side, and the cliffs were like nothing she'd ever seen. Not content with smooth faces with the occasional outcrop, it seemed every square foot of the steep surfaces were covered with long, razor spines, like a zhevra's horn, some as small as her little finger and some larger than a small hill. There were even spines growing on spines!

"Daughter!"

She turned at her father's call to see that he and the other officers were clustered at the base of a perilously narrow path directly beside the entrance to the tunnel on this side. Though there were less spines on that mountain face, the path was still treacherous enough to make a goat wince, with constant switchbacks and jags and areas where there was no path at all, just a steep slope to manage with the help of a few pathetic handholds and footholds. The path rose up, up, up, to a dizzying height before ending out on a narrow ledge. But even high as that ledge was, it still jutted out only halfway up the jagged mountain face.

As Saire joined the others at the base of this path, Hiezal motioned to it with a curse. "Lokiv's already gone up. He bids us to join him up there."

Saire stared at the narrow track with renewed dismay. "No fucking way."

"I know, right?" Hiezal sighed, shedding his pack, cloak, sword belt, and shirt, and then began to climb. "See you at the top."

Saire stared at her father plaintively. "I can't climb that," she protested.

Her father shrugged, already kicking out of his robes to reveal short breeches and a sleeveless tunic underneath, his body surprisingly muscled for one of his age. "You were not asked for personally. The only thing compelling you up the cliff is your curiosity." He, too, began to climb, having the foresight to bring a line of rope tied about his waist.

One by one the other officers made their preparations and began the ascent, leaving Saire alone at the bottom. Nothing compelling her but her curiosity, eh? Saire glared at the backs of the climbing elves, then up at the impossibly high ledge above.

"Damn it," she said. Then she began to climb.

. . . . .

After over an hour, easily one of the worst hours of her life to date, Saire finally managed to pull herself up onto the ledge, Hiezal standing above loudly encouraging her but offering not a lick of help. Her muscles felt like water, and the thought of going back down made her want to vomit off the edge.

"Well done," Hiezal said. Now that she was finally up he nobly lifted her to her feet and put an arm about her to support her. She wanted to kick him in the crotch. On the far side of the ledge Lokiv crouched staring silently out at the view before them, not even acknowledging their presence. The blood elf officers were a short distance away, also staring out at the view before them. Most of them wore expressions of stunned disbelief. Saire's whole concentration had been on the cliff face in front of her, above her or, during the worst moments, beneath her, and she hadn't had a chance to see the view. She took that chance now, Hiezal joining her in staring at the sight before them, and for once even her erstwhile lover was momentarily silent. Then that moment passed. "Sun's wrath," the handsome elf muttered.

Saire had no reply. How did they even _begin_ to navigate the area before them? The Bladed Mountains, the Broken Vurgil had called them. It was woefully inadequate as a descriptor.

Their vantage was dizzying, but even it wasn't the highest point in view. And if the path up to this vantage had been rocky and treacherous, with jags and outcroppings waiting to batter to death any unwary enough to fall, it seemed smooth as glass compared to the hills, cliffs, and ridges before them. Like the cliffs surrounding the flat space down below, the stone seemed almost alive, the living shell of some enormous prickly porcupine. Endless ridges rose, dropping to endless valleys, and on every vertical surface rocky spines jutted like crystalline formations, some as small as a lance's tip and some larger than a small mountain. Every surface was pointed, save for the few small trails that snaked through the impassible terrain. To make these spines even more daunting, along the tallest ridge to the northeast the massive spines speared the carcasses of dozens of black dragons.

"Black dragons," she whispered. "From whence did they come?"

Her voice drew the attention of Lokiv, who shook his head slowly. He still hadn't moved from his spot overlooking the daunting view, or turned to acknowledge their arrival. "I have heard Deathwing assailed the Dark Portal and broke through, shortly after Turalyon's expedition set out in pursuit of Ner'zhul and Teron Gorefiend. Rumor has it he left behind clutches of precious eggs spawned by his own broodmothers, hoping to gain a foothold on Draenor. It seems we now know the reception he received. As well as why this gronn Vurgil spoke of is called the Dragonkiller."

"How is it you know so much of the lore of Draenor?" Theril asked, seeming genuinely curious.

"I had reason to know." Saire had to nod at that, thinking of her enchanted map and the faint lines tracing a small area in Deadwind Pass, so close to the Dark Portal and the blasted lands around it. As a native of that area, and a scion of Medivh the Traitor's own house, it stood to reason the human would be versed in such matters.

Her father nodded thoughtfully, though the answer hadn't really been an answer at all. "I could see why the Black Terror would wish to hide eggs here. Flight seems the only swift and safe way to traverse this impassible land. I'm impressed the denizens of this land dared to challenge the dragons where the terrain so obviously favors them. To say nothing of braving such inhospitable terrain in the first place."

"I wouldn't so hastily speak of them in the past tense," Lokiv said tersely. He pointed down, past where the tunnel they'd fought their way through opened up in this daunting continent, to the narrow trail that led to a deep ravine, flat on the bottom. It was the only flat place in sight, near enough.

And as such, it was swarming with ogres and larger, viler creatures she assumed were the gronn. Ogre mounds and strongholds filled the flat area like fungus spreading over a wet stone, few patches untouched by the blight.

"Sun above," Theril breathed. "We could not hope to challenge such numbers. That they thrive in this barren wasteland is nothing short of a miracle."

Lokiv nodded, staring down at the ogre civilization. "Ogres are hardy creatures," he whispered. "They seem to thrive wherever they end up. Surprisingly fecund for such large monsters."

"What are we going to do?" Hiezal demanded. "We can't climb these spiny mountains, and we can't follow the flatlands."

His question hung in the air for a time, the officers staring down at the ogres and gronn in dismay. Then Lokiv nodded. "I believe the appropriate term is "fuck it". We're not spending a moment longer in this zone than we have to... without flying mounts it's far too great a hassle. The Creators must believe in a good joke, that this place exists in the first place."

"We can't very well go around it," her father protested.

"Can't we?" The human pointed to their right, towards a narrow trail that led from the mouth of the tunnel towards the edge of the continent. "I've scouted that area. There is a shelf along the continent's edge which provides a direct route between here and the continent we seek. It is actually shorter than trying to navigate that flat canyon where the ogres congregate."

"And you waited until now to tell us of it?" Velansar said with a scowl.

Lokiv shrugged with one shoulder. "The way is very narrow in places, enough so that the wagons' wheels will be hanging out over an endless drop. I thought it would lessen the complaints if you were afforded a glimpse of the alternative."

"Very well," Velansar said, sounding even more displeased. "We'll go your route. I suppose since you have all the answers you can tell us how we're getting off this damn ledge without breaking our necks?"

The human shrugged. "The same way you got on it, I would assume. I know how _I'm_ getting off it." Without hesitation the human burst from his crouch, leaping directly off the ledge and out into the open air. Saire gasped in shock, and she wasn't the only one.

The human plummeted directly towards the wagons waiting below, and it looked certain that he would dash himself to a pulp right on top of their supplies. But some forty yards above the ground he abruptly vanished, and when she saw him again he was on the ground, perfectly at ease.

Saire stared at the tiny figure in shock. _How_ was he managing such controlled Blinks, that not only took him where he wished but also apparently toyed with his momentum? He had to have an artifact, and a powerful one.

"If possible," Hiezal said quietly beside her, "I hate that man even more than I hate most humans."

Her father sighed. "Those of us who brought rope, I suggest we use it."

. . . . .

Between the tunnel and the continent's edge there was a path of sorts through the jagged spines of several hills. It was wide enough for wagons, barely.

Nex wasn't uneasy, but he was well aware that such paths didn't just appear out of nowhere. There was also the fact that Vurgil had seemed certain the tunnel would be guarded by ogres. That there was not an ogre in sight, and yet a path existed on this side of the tunnel, was highly suspicious.

Behind him he could hear the officers murmuring. There was no sign that this path had been worked by intelligent hands, but the elves were obviously coming to the same conclusion he had. They were even looking nervously up at the spiny ridges to either side of the narrow ravine they passed through, as if expecting enemies to appear atop those impassible spiny slopes. Which was absurd, since even flying creatures would have trouble finding a perch... on...

He'd just come to the realization that a force that could clear an open trail through this impassible terrain could easily do the same for the ridges above, when he heard a scream from behind him, and atop the ridges to either side massive figures began popping into view.

"Ogres!" Velansar cried, kicking his hawkstrider away from the press and lifting his warglaive into his free hand. The Spell Breaker yanked his mount into a tight circle, staring up at the heights to either side of the ravine. Nex spun a slow circle as well, cursing himself for a blind fool as he did. Enemies looked down upon them from every vantage, holding crude bows or spears or other throwing weapons. A few simply held massive rocks in their huge hands.

False gods be damned. It was a perfect bottleneck, and any fight they engaged in would be hopelessly one-sided. There was a distinct possibility he was about to lose his army.

Nex stared up at the creatures. Ogres they might be, but they resembled no ogres he had ever seen. Certainly they were too large to be orcs, and colored wrong for it as well, more a grayish-green rather than green or brown. Unlike ogres, however, they were massively muscled, making them far more impressive and imposing than even the large red orcs they'd fought.

From the ravine ahead more of the creatures appeared, these wielding brutish mauls and axes, or simply giant stone clubs. At their side moved spiny boars, odd white lizards with spiny tails, and brown-green basilisks, moving with the discipline and grace of trained battle companions. Nex had seen men on Azeroth with an uncanny affinity for animals, allowing them to tame and train the beasts to fight beside them. Whoever these creatures were, they had obviously done the same.

Behind him Velansar was shouting orders, trying to get the army organized in the tight confines and under whatever shelter they could find, in the hopes that the enemy would at least be forced to come down to and meet them face-to-face. One of the creatures ahead, with a massive dire wolf stalking at its side, raised its hand to halt its companions and came on alone with only its pet, a massive greatsword held easily in one hand. Seeing it, Nex walked away from his frantic soldiers and went to meet the enemy leader halfway.

The creature hailed him in Orcish, speaking it with a familiarity that suggest it was its native language. "You are brave to come away from the safety of your troops and treat with me alone. Your actions show great honor."

Nex fought back a derisive laugh as he continued forward, walking until he was roughly ten feet away. It wasn't often anyone called his actions honorable. "I will not die in this ravine," he said calmly.

"Death comes to us all, eventually," the leader replied. "I am Braagor, Chieftain of the Mok'Nathal." The Sons of Nath, in Orcish. Nex had never heard of them. Braagor continued resolutely. "You are neither orc nor draenei nor one of the hapless corrupted draenei. In truth, I would have expected the last to come sneaking through this tunnel, after we cleared it of Gruul's forces. But though I've not seen your kind before I recognize you as human."

Nex nodded. "I cannot say the same. I thought I knew much of orcs and ogres, but of the Sons of Nath I have heard nothing."

Braagor smiled grimly. "We are the descendants of orc and ogre both. As such both sides of our parentage despise us. The orcs consider ogres and their offspring to be stupid and primitive, while the ogres consider orcs and their offspring to be puny and weak."

"I am no stranger to the unjust hatred of my own race. But the question remains. Both ogre and orc despise humans, and would kill them where they may. You have us trapped in this ravine, and we are ill-prepared to defend ourselves."

"We do not hold this pass to waylay travelers like common brigands. Our village lies ahead. Perhaps the last remaining village of our kind."

Nex canted his head slightly. Was it possible these half-ogres were peaceful? He'd never seen an orc or ogre that didn't delight in bloodshed. "We do not travel this pass seeking conflict with any who live in these lands. Our goal lies north and east, the continent which connects to this one. We spied a pathway that can accommodate our wagons, following the edge of this continent and safe from attack by the ogres who hold this land."

Braagor nodded. "You speak of the Razor's Edge, which no man may walk without facing death on either side. We cleared that pass, and the tunnel you've just come through, so that we might have a means of fleeing in either direction when Gruul's forces come for us. If you speak truly about having no desire to fight, then cast away your weapons and submit to my blade."

There was an orc ritual similar to this that Nex was aware of. When the leader of an enemy faction came before the Warchief in defeat, he came in rags, submitting himself to the Warchief's weapon. Then the Warchief had to weigh the risks of keeping such a dangerous enemy alive with the cost of killing him and earning the enmity of the enemy faction.

Assuming this half-ogre lived by a comparable code of honor, there was no risk in doing as he asked. If not, there was still a chance he might be able to get away alive. Or he would die. Only favorable outcomes. Without hesitation Nex drew his Blinkstrike and dropped it to the ground, then reached behind his back to where he had a kukri strapped hilt-down between his shoulder blades and dropped that. Last of all he dropped his belt, which held a few throwing knives.

Then he walked forward calmly. Braagor held his sword out in front of him, and Nex moved right up to it, pressing its razor edge to his neck. With a short, swift movement he pressed harder and sideways, and the blade cut into his neck just enough to draw blood.

The half-ogre looked surprised, but then he nodded and let his sword lower until the tip rested against the ground. "My blade has tasted your blood. If you bring treachery, it will drink of it again."

"My only enemy is demons," Nex replied, backing away to where his weapons rested and returning them to their places.

"Then we share a common foe, human. I have seen my world destroyed by hatred and war, the demons standing in the background. I will not fight any foe save demons if I can flee. The Mok'Nathal will free ourselves from the cycle of hatred, no matter the price." Braagor raised his hand in a sharp gesture, and along the tops of the ravine the Mok'Nathal backed away until they were out of sight. "You wish to travel lands which we cleared with our own hands, and keep clear with our weapons. What price will you pay?"

Nex shrugged. "I know not what the Mok'Nathal need. Though we come in peace, we travel through dangerous lands, and will not part with our weapons. The wagons we need, and the beasts which pull them. But we will do without, if it means peace."

Braagor nodded slowly. "Draenor as it was is no more. Many creatures perished in the cataclysm, and we have worked long to restore the balance and bring life back to our home. Though the beasts you bring are not of our world, they can become so. Give us a male and two females of the creatures pulling your wagons, and a male and two females of the creatures your soldiers ride upon."

Nex hesitated. "My people sometimes remove the manhoods of our beasts of burden to make them more docile. But if such is not the case then your price is fair. I will see it done."

. . . . .

"There's no way in hell I'm giving up three hawkstriders," Velansar insisted, face red. "They're mine, given to me personally by Prince Kael'thas. You're a fool to even make that bargain. Go back and demand another price."

Lokiv smiled tightly, one of those characteristic expressions that obviously had no emotion behind it. "These half-ogres feel very strongly about honor. People with such views do not look kindly upon haggling, especially after an agreement is made. Of course, you could refuse, since they're yours. I imagine the two dozen or so enemies standing above us would be delighted at the opportunity to drop rocks on our heads."

In spite of herself Saire found herself holding back a giggle at the visual. It wasn't really funny, but then she'd just spent the last ten minutes certain she was going to die, so a little giddiness was understandable. Velansar turned a disgusted look her way, then huffed and turned away. "Kovel, Mellinel, Haldir. Best resign yourself to walking. If you have a problem with it, feel free to bring it up with our generous leader."

"To be fair, Captain," her father said mildly. "These brutes could have just as easily killed us all and stolen the mounts. Personally, I'm more concerned with how we're going to pull the wagons without three of our oxen."

Lokiv nodded. "It may be we'll have to abandon one of them. Until then redistribute the load so that two of them are light, and single-harness an ox to each of them."

Theril nodded and saw it done, while half a dozen of the large brutes, led by the monster who called himself Braagor, came forward and led the six promised beasts away. At first the hawkstriders hissed and screeched at the enormous half-ogres, but the creatures showed remarkable ability with animals, catching them firmly by their beaks and whispering to them for a long while. When finally the Mok'Nathal departed with their payment, the hawkstriders and oxen followed docilely behind.

As soon as the wagons were ready to move out Nex nodded in satisfaction. "We'll be passing through their village to get to this Razor's Edge road. Keep in line, and don't do anything to antagonize our hosts." With that they set out, half-ogres in front and behind their lines, with more shadowing them from up above. After almost a half hour of travel along the ravine it opened up into a large hollow beneath an enormous spike that jutted up into the sky, a young black dragon speared at its tip.

Within this hollow the village rose, tier by tier, to a large open hall at the top of the hill. Though she was no expert on orc or ogre architecture, the village seemed to incorporate both in its buildings. She saw the large, domed structures favored by ogres, and the smaller spiked pavilions orcs often raised in their main camps. There was even an opening in the spike that likely led into a small cave, such as many ogres favored for sleeping.

In fact, now that they were in the village she saw orcs and ogres both, if not pureblooded than at least heavily favoring their distinct ancestry. Obviously the Mok'Nathal village was open to any who sought peace. It was surprising to see such an attitude from those with orc and ogre blood, since she would never have expected either race to be anything but violently aggressive. Brutish faces glared at them suspiciously as they moved along the eastern side of the village towards another break in the spines, likely the beginning of this Razor's Edge Lokiv had spoken of. But while none who watched them seemed friendly, there were no attacks nor even spoken threats. Saire wondered if an army of orcs could have been escorted through a human or blood elf city without heckling, refuse and rocks thrown, and even riots.

It held a disconcertingly honest mirror up to her own people. She had heard her father say on many occasions that orcs were irredeemable savages, and it would be far better to slaughter them all rather than hold them in internment camps and hope for some sort of rehabilitation. It was a common sentiment in Quel'thalas, and in Dalaran. Perhaps Terenas Menethil hadn't been such a fool to hope that in time the orcs could be tamed, and some peace managed.

"Doesn't it make you sick, having to depend on the mercy of these things?"

Saire pressed her lips into a thin line as Hiezal moved to walk beside her. "Since it appears that we _can_ depend on that mercy, no, it doesn't make me sick. Although here I was thinking how wrong I was to assume that orcs and ogres were little better than animals, and you come around and reinforce the notion that civilization is just a veneer over our own poorly controlled savagery."

Hiezal blinked. "Rrrreeeerrr. I didn't realize it was your time of month, Miss Catty."

Saire swatted at him. "Go away, you oaf! I'm not in the mood for your antics." He burst into laughter, and she swatted at him again and again, raining blows down on his arrogant, disrespectful, stupid head until he was forced to flee, still laughing.

She turned to see one of their half-ogre escorts watching her with an expression of befuddlement on his face, and felt her cheeks heating in embarrassment.

Yes, civilized indeed.


	13. Nether Wyrms and Netherstorms

Happy New Year!

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Chapter Twelve

Nether Wyrms and Netherstorms

Strange.

Near the head of the line one of the scouts, a wiry dark-haired beauty named Venna Skyflare had just returned from patrol and was reporting in with Velansar. Saire would have ignored the event, commonplace as it was during a march, except there was an unusual aura about the woman. She knew for a fact that Venna had no more than minimal talent in the arcane arts, and yet the residue of arcane energy drifted about her. Particularly around her shoulders and neck, like a soft collar; she seemed to shimmer.

The scout completed her report and darted down the lines towards where the water wagons rumbled at the back. In their own way the Bladed Mountains were as dry as Hellfire Peninsula, and Lokiv had had the foresight to make certain their wagons were filled to capacity before they left the swamps. And lucky they had, for they'd been at march three hard days, without drilling or stopping for any diversion, and had seen no sign of water. In spite of this their two half-ogre guides had shown no need of food or water, though how they were provisioning themselves in this barren land was a mystery.

Obviously Venna was hurrying back to refill her waterskin and take her portion of the rations before falling in line. As the woman passed where Saire marched in line Saire surreptitiously cast an advanced detect magic spell. Sure enough, the scout was suffused with arcane energy of a sort Saire had never seen before. Concerned, she hurried forward to where Velansar rode his hawkstrider. "I need to ask some questions, Captain," she said.

The Spell Breaker frowned at her. "I'll decide whether or not to answer."

Saire bit back a mocking retort. Of course he would... had the warning even needed to be given? "That woman, Venna. What was her patrol route, and how long has she been away?"

Velansar's frown turned thoughtful. "You noticed it as well, then? I'm no mage, but I know magic when I feel it."

"She came in contact with a source of deviant arcane energy, sometime within the last few hours," Saire confirmed. "Will you answer my question?"

"As you wish. She was set to patrol along the edge of the continent, shadowing our force from slightly ahead of the line. She's been at it the entire time we've been marching, claiming nothing to report."

"False claims." Saire frowned, staring at the prickly hedge of rocky spines that had separated them from the edge of the continent for the last hour or so. During most of yesterday's march the flat area had been right next to the edge, staring out at the Twisting Nether above and to the right, with the nauseating view of the Maw, as the others had taken to calling the half-molten jumble of colliding rocks thousands of miles below, warning them not to stray too close to the edge no matter how narrow the way became.

She had seen no sources of arcane energy out in the Nether, but that wasn't to say they didn't exist. "May I have your permission to investigate this further, Captain?"

Velansar hesitated, then grimaced. "I suppose nobody else is qualified to do it, unless I want to get the Eldre'leton involved. Keep your findings to yourself, and report directly to me."

Saire frowned. "Why the secrecy?"

The Spell Breaker looked at her as if she was insane. "As a mage you probably don't notice or care, but for those of us who can't tap into a convenient source of arcane energy it's different. Several of the soldiers, even some of my own, are getting antsy, in the extreme stages of magic withdrawal. Hearing of a possible source of magic might push them over the edge into complete collapse." He spat off his hawkstrider. "Last thing any of us need is to waste our time dealing with Wretched in the camp."

Saire nodded, feeling like a fool. When the rations had been running low she'd noticed gauntness in the faces of some of the soldiers. But even traveling through the marsh, with food far more readily abundant, that gauntness hadn't faded from some of them. She should have connected it with magic addiction sooner. For herself, being able to focus on a task had allowed her to push the pangs to the back of her mind. And between training her apprentices and the several conflicts they'd entered into since leaving the main camp, as well as her injuries and dealing with them, she hadn't had a free moment in which magic addiction would sneak its insidious way to the forefront of her thoughts. Perhaps, also, access to the Ankh had done something for her: even if it fed off her own power, access to the nature energy had sated her.

But if it was true that Venna had found a source of magic then there was a reason to be interested aside from mere curiosity or the possibility of danger from that source. Pain, like hunger or thirst or an ache that never fades, came crashing down on her, and she was forced to struggle with it as she turned away from Velansar and made for where the scout ate a snack while walking beside a companion among the ranks of bowmen near the rear of the line.

It was good she'd been set to investigate this. She might be able to profit from it.

Venna was unusual for an elf, with a nose that passed the mark of bold and approached overbearing. Yet somehow the shape of her face fit that prominent feature smoothly, giving her a sort of exotic beauty. Combined with her slender form she had the appearance of a fierce bird of prey. Or a hatchet.

And she was, obviously, in the early stages of magic euphoria. "Oy, red," she purred as Saire approached, taking a ravenous bite of dried meat that had many of the qualities of fungus. She appeared to enjoy the food immensely, which of itself was enough to raise alarm bells in Saire's head. "Ain't you a dainty thing. That henna coloring your mop, or does the carpet match the tapestry?"

Saire stiffened in affront. Had this woman no shame? A Highborne of the most ancient Azerothian lineage, chewing her words and spitting them out like the lowest gutter tramp. "Show propriety, scout," she said coolly.

Venna laughed, sounding almost giddy. Her companions had taken a step away and turned into their own conversation, all but disavowing any connection to their embarrassing friend. "Propriety can stuff me. What say, red? Fancy going off for a tussle? I hear you like to trod in the mud," she licked her lips hungrily. "Anything nibbles my button is right by me, and I've already eaten a worm today." For some reason that struck the scout as highly amusing, and she burst into a fit of giggles.

Yes, Venna didn't have an arcane bone in her baseborn body. Whatever source she'd tapped had hit her like two sheafs of opit leaf in a windowless room. Saire pasted a smile on her face. "Yes, darkling, lets go off and have a tete-a-tete, shall we?" She put an arm around the girl's shoulders, and Venna immediately slumped against her, still giggling.

_Yes, you can tell me where I can get some of the same._

. . . . .

There was an unusual edge to the marching lines. It was subtle, like lightning buildup before a strike, making the air crackle and silencing the animals, but it concerned him.

It concerned him more when he saw two soldiers from the ranks of marching melee fighters slip away from the lines and disappear through a crack in the spiny hills to their right, in the direction of the edge. Nex turned to speak to Redcrest about it, only to find that the man was near the back of the lines, haranguing a hapless hatchet-faced scout while several others looked on with surprising intensity.

Against his better judgment Nex went after the two himself. Deserters? Or was there something of interest there that they'd slipped away to see.

With his dagger he managed to Blink in front of them, catching the two glaive-wielders just as they ducked out of the tunnel of spines that took them through the hill. One of the men cursed, and the other actually went for his weapon before his friend caught his arm angrily.

"Gentlemen," Nex said calmly, moving forward to stand directly in front of them. "I believe it is against regulations to break from the ranks during march without authorization."

The smarter of the two saluted unenthusiastically, fist to chest then held out in front, ramrod straight. "Sir, we have no authorization."

"And your purpose for breaking ranks?"

The soldier's eyes remained firmly ahead. "Sir, investigating a rumor."

"Must you, Torrnal?" his companion asked wearily. "Sir this and sir that. We'll be at this give-and-take all day." The elf sneered at him. "We heard there were magic animals off the edges of the cliffs, wandering about. I know the way of draining magic and thought I'd see if the rumors were true." The other, Torrnal, nodded reluctantly. There was a familiar hunger in both of their expressions.

"I see. And where did this rumor originate?"

Torrnal shrugged. "We heard one of the scouts has already caught and fed off one. Wiggly little snakey thing, they say. She's not tried to hide it, and none of the officers have stepped on the rumors or given any new orders. Charge us with breaking ranks and be done with it, sir. We're going to find them if they're out there to be found."

"I'll charge you with nothing, soldiers. Get back in line, and tell Redcrest to make sure that nobody else breaks ranks."

At this Torrnal saluted again, face twisted in an almost agony, but he started to turn back the way they'd come. His companion, however, held firm. "Showing favoritism? Your pet mage has arcane energy to toss about, but you let her wander off to feast while denying the rest?"

Nex straightened, meeting the elf's eyes and holding them grimly. "No one breaks ranks without authorization, and no one goes chasing off after mirages from the Nether. Tell Redcrest that, as well."

"Or what?" Before Nex could answer the question Torrnal caught his friend's shoulder, bodily turning him around, and all but dragged him back into the spiny maze, whispering fiercely at him.

Nex turned back towards the edge, grim. So, Saire had wandered off chasing mana wyrms, had she?

. . . . .

In the end he didn't have to go far before he found a secluded little ravine near the edge of the abyss with a few glowing crystals growing within it. Around these crystals a handful of tiny mana wyrms darted. And in the midst of the darting wyrms Saire stood motionlessly, blue-green eyes fixed on one of the darting creatures.

Nex slowed, not caring that he was encroaching on her privacy but not wanting her to know he was there. The edge of the continent was less than a foot away from her outstretched hand, leading to a long fall towards the churning mass of molten rubble that was the core of this sundered world. But she ignored the danger as she ignored his presence, if she'd even sensed it. All her attention was on the creature before her.

Nex looked from her face to the tiny iridescent wyrm she was beckoning to. The blue in her eyes faded, and they began go grow a sickly green, lit with a hunger that made her face look gaunt with ethereal beauty. The wyrm was slender, like a fish of light, with long fins stretching out behind it from above and below, dissipating into the nether like comets' tails. Its eyes were two pinpoints of even brighter light, burning with youthful curiosity. It drifted closer on the nether winds, circling slowly around the blood elf.

"Ael salah malandanos ista," she called softly to the wyrm in Thalassian. Startled, it backed away from her with surprising ease. Then, still curious, it began to drift forward once more. Saire kept still now, save for the fingers of her outstretched hand which rippled as if she were tickling the air. The wyrm drifted ever closer until her fingers were sliding across its translucent fins. It shimmered a darker color for a moment, then settled onto her palm. The blood elf sucked in a startled breath, then slowly brought her hand in closer to her breast as she lifted her other hand to slide it lightly over the wyrm's top fin. It pulsed again, and Nex had the impression of a puppy wagging its tail.

"Selatha," Saire crooned at the tiny creature, "an'duliel mavrenos, istari?" Her fingers ran lightly over the top fin once more, then beneath it to the body of the wyrm, which pulsed quicker. Then her eyes glowed brighter, and her lips parted as if in pleasure. She sucked in air, and for a moment Nex thought she was gasping. Then the wyrm in her hands began thrashing, twisting this way and that struggling to escape. Saire gave a soft moan as she continued to inhale, and the wyrm began to disperse, its energies drifting towards her face until they were drawn in through her nostrils and parted lips. In just a few moments more it was gone.

Saire exhaled loudly, gasping in elation. Her tongue slipped past her parted lips, licking them in a lazy circle like a diner who has just finished eating a messy dish. Then she stood with her fists at her sides and her eyes closed, panting softly.

Nex couldn't take his eyes off her. Oddly enough, he found the sight sensual. Thanks to the torments he'd endured at the hands of succubi it had been a long while since he'd felt attraction for any female. That he felt it stirring now, couched in magic addiction, made him uneasy, the more so because it awakened in him a longing he feared to acknowledge.

She finally turned to him and her eyes opened, staring directly into his. They were glazed from the euphoria of stealing the creature's mana along with its life force, though for mana wyrms there was little difference between the two. Nex inclined an eyebrow, keeping his face impassive, but something of his inner feelings must have crept through. With a soft smile as if she knew exactly what he was thinking she went to her tiptoes and stretched her arms high over her head, drawing her loose robes tight over her supple curves. With another sensuous moan she dropped back onto the soles of her feet and began walking towards him with an exaggerated sway of her hips. "Was there something you needed, human?"

Nex went stiff, wary. That was the walk succubi always assumed when they'd circled him in his captivity, signaling a beginning to their fiendish torments. Not all of those torments had begun as unpleasant, but they'd all ended that way. "You should be wary of feeding your addiction in that manner," he said, and much of his stiffness carried to his voice. "The more you turn to such sources, the greater the pain of your hunger will become."

She laughed softly. "But how delicate a balance it is. If I ignore the cravings for too long they begin to twist my very body and soul until I am a broken husk, scrabbling for mana remnants and wishing for a death that usually does not come. I've seen those wretched creatures before, and I've no desire to become one of them." She laughed, low and sultry. "Of course I don't need to explain magic addiction to _you_, human, do I?"

Looking away was not enough. Nex turned and began walking back towards camp, leaving her behind. But he was even more uncomfortably aware of the Illidari stone resting against his breast, trickling power into him. Thinking of it made the desire to draw upon it as deeply as he could even stronger. "It seems there's no way to win," he said, more bitterly than he'd intended. There had to be a source of greater power he could turn to that would free him from Stormrage's grasp. There _had_ to be.

When he looked back, he was relieved to see Saire had not followed. But she was watching him, and there was an odd smile on her lush lips. Nex shuddered and turned away.

Back at the lines, there was an almost feverish energy to the air. The Spell Breakers were riding their seven mounts up and down the lines, struggling to maintain order. Even Redcrest. Nex intercepted his Second halfway down the lines. "New order, Redcrest. No breaking ranks, no coming within one hundred yards of the edge. Any who disobey, or who are found with mana residue, will be flogged."

Redcrest tensed, and his hawkstrider reared and hissed at him. "You would try to deny us this, human? You would _beat_ us to add injury to insult? Was it not you who said that if we followed you, our magic addiction could be fed?"

Nex turned an annoyed glance at the nearby soldiers. Redcrest had deliberately spoken loud enough for them to hear. He had no choice but to respond at the same volume. "Not like this, Redcrest. Mana wyrms are a siren's call, a mirage over quicksand. You fill them with hope that they might sate their addiction, only to have that hope turn to bitterness when they find no wyrms to devour. That shattered hope will lead to more collapse of self-control, more episodes of devolution into Wretched, than merely holding steading in the ranks would."

The Spell Breaker hissed, much like his mount, and then motioned Nex away from listening ears. "I'm well aware of that, _human_. I told your whore to quiet the problem, and instead she winkles the information out of that idiot Skyflare then leaves her to spread the tale while she bolts for the edge and her own little arcane feast. What could have been no problem at all is made nearly a catastrophe by your lover's lack of control."

Nex tightened his jaw. First the elves calling her his pet mage and suggesting he gave her special privilege, and now this. Sadly, there was no help for it. "If she went against your orders she must be flogged. Let the men know it is for disobeying orders. Perhaps fear of the lash will keep them strong against their addiction."

Redcrest gaped at her. "You'd flog your own mistress?"

Nex hesitated. That harmless misapprehension Saire had played out was starting to rear up and bite him in the ass. All of the vexation and none of the benefits, it seemed. He should have kicked her out the moment she returned to his tent, no matter what pressure she was getting from the others to act as their spy.

Of course, now that they hated her nearly as much as they hated him, having her flogged would only enrage them more. It would be seen as an insult against the elven race. Coupled with his ban on harvesting mana wyrms it might turn resentment into a full-blown mutiny. "Tastefully. With as little humiliation as possible."

. . . . .

Saire felt as light as air. No, in truth even lighter, since air only carried vibrations and she _was_ vibrations. So many vibrations, quivering beneath her flesh like little hawkstrider hatchlings peeping at the cloth that darkens their basket so they can sleep.

Oh gods, she wanted to hold a hawkstrider chick. They were _sooo_ soft with their little feathers, and their tiny claws prickling her palm. What would it be like to be completely covered in those downy feathers.

**NO!** To cover herself in feathers she'd have to kill like a hundred of the poor little things. Even more than that, probably. A thousand. A _thousand_ sweet little chiclets! She was a monster! Oh Sunwell's sundering the vibrations were going to tear her apart. It was the Light she'd forsaken when all her race was going to-

"Saire. Saire!" A blinding light dancing across her vision. _The _Light, come to consume her at last for her infidelity! But why would the Light make her cheek hurt, and why was the light dancing like little stars. Like the little point of white in the endless black of a puppy's huge, innocent eyes. Gods of Azeroth, their fur was even softer than hawkstrider moltings! She _had_ to find a puppy! If she didn't find a puppy she would just _die_.

No. Oh no. Oh no no no. She was on Outland, there were no little puppies. Oh gods why were there no puppies? She was going to die. She was _going to die_.

"Gods damn it, girl, how many of the damn things did you consume?"

"How many were there is a better question. Dives in with both toes down, your daughter."

"For fuck's sake, Nova, if she's diving in how the hell is she going in feet-first?"

"Take it easy, Elder, it's not exactly a picnic sitting next to a mana-sated elf while staring at dozens of points of unimaginable arcane power in the sky and knowing there's nothing to be done about it. Oh shit, I'm going to turn myself into a Wretched, aren't I?"

"Shut your damn mouth, you fool."

"Really Saire, couldn't have saved at least one for me? And here I thought we were friends."

"Take her."

Points in the sky. Points. Holes. Was that it, then? The sky was really just a giant colander with endless light on the other side? If that was so what were all those swirly things? Bigger holes, partially covered? Clusters of fruit in the washing?

"Really, Redcrest, I vehemently object. Not even Lokiv would ask you to beat her while in the middle of mana euphoria. In her mentally weakened state any blow might be catalyst for a change to Wretched state."

"I disagree. In this state she'll be less likely to even feel it. I'm doing her a mercy."

"In point of fact, Redcrest, now that your boys have got her carried back to camp there'll be no beating, since the first person who tries to lay hands on her is going down with my sword in their throat."

"You saying you'd like a blow job from a real man, Nova? That must be what you meant, because you certainly couldn't have actually been threatening ten of Kael'thas Sunstrider's own invincible Spell Breakers."

"That's exactly what I was doing, you lickspittle dog. You can't punish her for disobeying an order made _after_ the action she's being punished for. How does that look to the men?"

"I can do whatever the hell I like, you country toadstool. Step aside or join her at the pole."

Why must the world fracture? It burned at her ears and made her feet tingle. Why was it even possible? The world had already fractured, it couldn't fracture again. Swords, and curses, the lightning and thunder of gods. But she didn't believe in gods, did she? They certainly didn't believe in her.

Lightning flashed, and agony seared across her back. Startled, she threw back her head and yelled.

. . . . .

What seemed like an eternity later she was in a cool, dark place. A tent. Freed of the haze of whatever effects she'd been under, all there was left was pain, and the horrible realization of exactly what had happened.

Lokiv had ordered her beaten for consuming the mana wyrms, and Hiezal had tried to intervene on her behalf. Hiezal. Sudden panic gripped her, and with effort she pushed to her hands and knees, ignoring the lines of pain that etched themselves anew on her back. Had he died trying to protect her, the gallant fool? He'd watch with a laugh while she lugged fifty pounds to her tent and back, but fight to the death to save her from a few stripes?

There was a dark shape next to her. She was in Hiezal's tent, and he lay beside her. A quick hand to his throat informed her that his heart was beating, at the least, and fairly strong and even. He gave a soft moan, but that was all.

She fell back to her stomach, feeling bandages scrape across her back. Then light flooded the tent, and a head poked in. "Water," she croaked. There was a sloshing noise, and something cool and wet hit the side of her face. A waterskin. A moment later she heard soft footfalls, and something harder, smoother, and colder was set to rest at the curve of her throat. A soft warmth seemed to infuse her, and her pain lessened.

The Ankh.

She raised her head. "Hardal?"

The emotionless voice that replied hit her like a splash of cold water. "I reclaimed my possession from Dor'ane. I would appreciate it if you would stop getting yourself injured so I can at some point have it back for good."

Rage burned in her, but she was too tired for it to be anything but a low blaze. "Fuck you," she muttered. "I hope you burn in the lowest plane for this."

"In fact the lowest plane is one of pure chaos. Fire is too orderly to exist there." She didn't deign to answer, and for a minute silence reigned. She'd almost begun to hope he'd left when he spoke again. "This wasn't personal, Saire. It wasn't even about you. This was one of the only ways I could think of to shock the men into controlling their addiction. If I was willing to beat my own "lover", then how would I respond to them disobeying my orders?"

"Won't work," she muttered. "You'll see. They'll be slipping away at night."

A pause. "Likely. But now that I've come down on it hard, I'm free to look the other way when they do."

The rage burned in her again, duller but more poignant. "So you beat me for no reason?"

"I beat you to prevent a stampede to the edge, at which point they'd see not a mana wyrm in sight. How many would have instantly morphed into Wretched at such a shock of despair?"

"Some apology," she muttered.

"I don't ask for forgiveness, I ask for you to understand why I did what I did. Feel free to hate me as much as you like."

"I will." She heard another rustle of cloth and soft footsteps, and her hand shot out, nearly of its own accord. "Before you go, heal Hiezal. It's a poor apology, but I might be slightly more kindly disposed."

After a short pause the Ankh disappeared from its place at her neck. Then she heard Hiezal gasp, and his form next to her jerked upwards, swearing. Lokiv tucked the Ankh back into its place, and a moment later light through the open flaps blinded her, before going dark once more.

"Saire?" Hiezal whispered.

"Here." She began groping along his body until she found his hand, holding it.

"Hope they haven't messed up your back too badly. I've already waited weeks for your injuries to heal so I could have you flawless."

She found herself laughing, and sharp pain flared along her back. "Shh, you dolt. You didn't really try to fight for my honor, did you?"

"I did!" he protested. "Had them all backpedaling, too, until one of the bastards snuck up behind me and brained me with his ungodly huge shield."

She controlled her laughter better this time. "No more than you deserve." She squeezed his hand tighter, feeling almost hesitant. "When I do recover, you really should come visit my tent. If it affects your decision at all, I swear on my aspirations that I never let the human touch me."

"Lies," Hiezal said, not unkindly. After a moment his hand squeezed back. "I might just do that. You'll have to be on your back, though. I don't want to see those stripes."

She wanted to tell him she loved him. But of course that was just the euphoria talking. Love, a jackass like him? Even Lokiv would laugh at a joke like that.

. . . . .

They called it The Incident.

Even three days after it had taken place, they still whispered of it, and he felt their glares on the back of his head as he walked at the front of the lines. He was just surprised there weren't daggers plunging into him from behind.

Surprisingly, being beaten by him hadn't made them love Saire any more, either. Maybe it was the fact that she'd been found glutted with mana from enough worms to at least ease the addiction of a dozen or more elves. If they feared loss of pride more than physical pain, they obviously felt even stronger about having a source of mana stolen from them.

Saire and Hiezal rode the back wagon, now, wisely choosing a place where at least those who wanted to glare at them would have to turn around to do so. Thick as thieves these days, those two. And in the night troops slipped from camp in search of more wyrms and other denizens of the Nether Plane, as often as not returning frustrated from their hunt. But none had become Wretched yet.

None had become Wretched. For all that, at least that was something. Also Saire didn't bother him in his tent every night, now. And that was also something. He didn't know if she'd ever been kindly disposed toward him, but now she seemed to hate him as much as any of the others.

What was that saying, better to be feared than loved? He hadn't particularly been trying for either, the last little while. And morale among the troops was lower than it had ever been. But at least now they finally had something to distract themselves from how much they hated the human.

"There it is, just as you said," he said to Dor'ane. Unlike many other times when there was something of interest to see, he hadn't broken away from the lines and gone ahead to see it this time. The army stretched out behind him, bunching up now to crest the hill and see the view before them. The border between the Bladed Mountain and the continent where Netherstorms still raged.

Unlike the other borders between continents that he had seen, these two had not collided to form a massive mountain range. Quite the contrary, in fact: the two continents had been much wider down lower, like icebergs, and when they had slammed into each other it had been hundreds of miles down. So while the continents were indeed connected, on their surfaces a massive ravine connected them, a mile wide and nearly as daunting in its depth and the rocky protrusions which thrust from its walls and floor as staring into the Maw would be.

Nex could have found some way across, if necessary, but there was no need. A bridge already connected the two continents.

"That cannot be of ogre design," Theril murmured to Redcrest. The two were standing far enough away from him to make it clear they assumed he was excluded from the leadership, surrounded by minor officers and messengers. Small surprise that his treatment of Saire had alienated her father, but it was surprising just how cold the Elder had become since. Cornering him for a conversation was near impossible, and he spoke nothing aside from monosyllabic answers to direct questions.

But he was correct. The bridge was certainly not of ogre design. Advanced machinery stood on either side of the ravine, projecting a surface across the gap that appeared to be light, but light that was so condensed and packed with energy that it bore the appearance of colored glass.

"If not the ogres, then who?" Redcrest asked.

Nex had his suspicions. And if they were correct, it was possible that bridge wouldn't support weight. But he immediately saw the flawed logic in that fear, for the ones who created it would have no need of weight to move about.

But then again, they'd want to haul their treasures back. They couldn't properly work in the corporeal plane without that ability.

"Bring the men forward," he said over his shoulder, striding down towards the bridge. He heard the sound of elves spitting behind him, and snorted quietly to himself. They'd trained well, and it was doubtful he'd be able to kill them all at this point, which meant he'd have to flee. And fleeing meant certain failure. Best hope their greed and reverence for their precious prince kept them in line until the task was done.

At the beginnings of the bridge he gave the machinery a brief inspection, but its workings were beyond him. He'd have to study it for quite a while to truly understand it, and he'd never claimed to be an engineer. Still, he could feel a faint shimmer in the air, hear a soft buzzing that was heartening. They had a solid feel to them. Hand on the pommel of his Blinkstrike, just in case, he stepped out onto the bridge.

It held his weight.

He took a few more exploratory steps, and tried leaping up and down. That wouldn't tell him whether or not the bridge could support the wagons, though it was wide enough to do so, but the condensed light felt like stone under his feet. Most likely they could trust it to hold a considerable amount of weight.

He turned. "Come!" he called. "Tempest Keep awaits." The blood elves descended the hill, and while none of them would admit to taking heart at his words, their steps seemed lighter, much of the low spirits of the previous days vanishing.

In the distance mana wyrms and nethersnakes frolicked along the ravine's edge.

. . . . .

"Tempest Keep awaits," Hiezal said mockingly, slumping down into a camp chair in the Firedge tent. "If I'd known I was going to be spending my life trundling along the edges of an infinite drop into the Twisting Nether, I would have tried my luck with the endless waves of bloody demons."

The other officers similarly found their seats. Theril, sitting atop his cot with a flask of brandy in hand, frowned slightly. "No need to be hasty, Nova. Illidan told us that the Keep was at the far end of the continent from where it connects to the Bladed Mountains. I'm not sure we could cover that distance in the five days we've traveled."

"Well we'd better cover it soon," Hardal said amiably. "You're the Quartermaster, Elder, you should know how much water we have left."

"And food." Saire cut in. "Creatures of the Nether are all very well and good for feeding our addiction, but in its own way this damn purple rock is as barren as Hellfire Peninsula."

Velansar shot her a disgusted look. "You'd know all about feeding your addiction, wouldn't you? You're worse than the jivi-pipe whores who sell their bodies for drugs."

His magical defenses were likely in place, but Saire still began marshaling her reserves. She'd endured one insult too many from the Spell Breaker recently. Across the tent she saw that in spite of his lounging Hiezal's hand rested lightly on his sword.

"Enough of this foolishness," her father said, stepping forward and thrusting the flask at Hiezal. "We can't be fighting among ourselves when there's a human in our midst."

"Especially since now we know that fucking the man won't protect us from him," Hardal agreed amiably. Four sets of eyes turned to glare at him, and he shrugged. "Just saying." He reached for the flask Hiezal was taking a gulp of.

Theril shook his head wearily. "We'll need to send the scouts farther out in search of food and water. Inland, certainly. We know Outland has water, we just need to find it."

"We know _parts_ of Outland have water. That's no guarantee that any that manages to flow off those continents isn't ending up in the Maw."

"Nevertheless we must look for more. Our supplies are running low."

Hardal coughed quietly as he took too large a gulp from the flask. "Do you suppose our fearless leader has considered the fact that we're chasing a floating fortress? How are we to know it'll even be where it last was?"

No one had an answer for this, although the mere thought of such a wild goose chase had them all feeling grim. For Saire's part, she wanted nothing more than to find a ley line and try to make a portal out of this hellhole, even if such an attempt would likely spell certain death.

The meeting broke up after that. There wasn't much to decide other than that they must go on, and they must send the scouts farther afield in search of provisions. As she returned to her tent she almost found herself wishing they had a shaman in their midst. Barbaric as the shamanic ways were, they at least could commune with the elements and likely find sources of food and water. Even a druid might possibly be of some value. It was enough to make her miss the presence of that disgusting creature Vurgil.

She was nearly prepared for bed when a slap at her tent flaps was followed almost immediately by Hiezal staggering into the small space. "I'm glad you've finally come to your senses," Hiezal said, fumbling the flaps closed behind him. "Y-you dunno what you're missing until you don't have it, right?" He lunged forward awkwardly and drew her into a fierce embrace, his lips consuming hers hungrily.

Saire immediately pushed him away, nose crinkling. "Your breath reeks of liquor and mint."

Hiezal burst into that sort of suppressed laughter that completely involves breathing in and out of the nose. It sounded suspiciously like sniggering. "T-that's one thing more... thing... than I'd hoped it would smell of w-when I gargled mint oil five minutes ago," he replied, swaying slightly. For others it might have been a simple shifting of balance, but she knew his grace well enough to see it for what it was: Hiezal was a solid drinker, and if he was showing the liquor's effects he had to be close to falling-down drunk.

"How much have you drank?" she demanded.

He shrugged again, the move more exaggerated than it needed to be. "As m-much as I felt like. I'm afraid the problem of my stinky breath is yours now. I can't smell it, and if I could I wouldn't mind, w-would I? So if it offends you your choices are to send me away or endure it."

She gritted her teeth. It was a surprising comfort to have Hiezal in her tent at night. Especially when he was asleep and, by definition if not in reality, quiet. "I'll endure it," she muttered, loosening the ties of her shirt. "But no kissing, and bury your face in the pillow when you're on top of me."

. . . . .

Nex looked down at the rocky promontory jutting out from the ravine below, then cursed quietly.

"What is it?" Nova demanded. "Do you know what they are?"

The scouts had, quite without his being aware or in control of the situation, begun roaming much farther afield in search of supplies. Neither Dor'ane nor Redcrest seemed the slightest bit apologetic about failing to inform him of the change. In a way it was good, however, because they'd brought this narrow but deep ravine and its strange denizens to his attention.

"Yes," he replied. In the midst of half a dozen strange energy devices atop tall poles, similar in design to the bridge they'd crossed, creatures wrapped in what looked like long, narrow strips of cloth, with oddly solid energy peeking out from between the wrappings, were working among crates that appeared to be no more than metal frameworks enclosing clouds of plasma. In the midst of the camp creatures that looked like amorphous shapes of energy similar in appearance to void demons, but of bright energy rather than shadows, were apparently tapping the energy of a small netherstorm within the ravine and shunting it into more of the containment crates. The two types of creatures looked different but were in fact the same, one bound within the wrappings and the other unbound.

After the bridge He'd expected them to be here, and he supposed it was no surprise; they were always quick to exploit anything new, the opportunistic bastards.

The elves around him waited, but when it was apparent he wasn't going to say anything more Saire made an impatient noise. "Well?"

Nex finally turned away from the camp. "They're ethereals."

. . . . .

The name meant nothing to her, any more than the appearance of the creatures below had. And once again Lokiv had fallen silent, watching the creatures below with an odd gleam in his eyes. If she didn't know better she would have supposed it was amusement. "Care to tell us what those are?" she demanded, after once again waiting far too long for him to be forthcoming.

"What?" Lokiv turned to glance at her. "Ethereals, creatures of energy born of the Twisting Nether."

"I've never heard of them," Hiezal said.

"Not surprising. Even mages make little study of the Nether plane. Though it is believed to be the source of their arcane energy, few know more of it than how to go about tapping energy from it. Luckily my studies of it have been far more extensive, by necessity as well as inclination."

"Luckily," her father murmured with a slight smile on his face.

Lokiv ignored the interruption. "It is an entirely different plane of existence, where instead of corporeal form everything is energy, often wild and chaotic but occasionally ordered. And like the corporeal plane, it has its own denizens."

Saire stared down at the creatures. She was unaccustomed to finding out there were whole branches of knowledge she had never even been acquainted with. "How did they get here?"

He shrugged one shoulder in that infuriating way he had. "Much the same way we did, I would imagine." When she gave him a flat look his lips quirked. "The magical cataclysm which tore Draenor apart also flung it halfway into the Twisting Nether, an odd event which I have never heard of happening before. It made Outland a sort of midway point between the two planes, accessible by denizens of both. We've already encountered other denizens of the Nether plane." He paused in a significant way. "You've already fed on some of them."

Saire flushed, thinking of the little mana wyrms she'd consumed. Was nobody going to let her forget that lapse in control? "What are these, then? Are they demons?"

"No." Lokiv turned his eyes back down to the strange camp. "They're something much more annoying." He sighed. "I suppose we should go talk to them."

He started on the rough path that led down to the plains below. "Go tell the others to take a break, time indeterminate," she told the scout. Then she started after Lokiv, with Hiezal and Theril coming behind with two of Hiezal's bodyguards taking the rear. With a bit of hurrying she caught up to him. "Should I be worried about this?"

"Only if you have something extradimentional beings would consider valuable," Lokiv replied wryly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" He didn't answer, and after a few minutes of walking they neared the perimeter of odd poles with weird hollow glass globes perched atop them that looked as if they were filled with lightning constantly crackling from the center of the globe to strike the glass and make its way down the pole. "What are those?" she asked.

Lokiv paused, and gave the devices a look of genuine interest. "Planar rift generators, I think."

On the inside of the devices a few of the ethereals had paused to stare at them, whether out of wariness or curiosity she couldn't tell. A few had gathered near the center of the camp and were waiting with the manner of a greeting party. Hiezal stalked forward to stare with interest at the generators. "What do they do?" he asked.

"This is purely conjecture, but I imagine they phase the enclosed area fully back to the Twisting Nether."

"Why?"

"Well, we can live here on Outland but we don't much enjoy it. I imagine they feel the same way, and prefer to be in their own plane if they can manage it."

Saire moved forward as well, more cautiously. "So passing through these will take us into the Nether plane?"

"Or kill us," Lokiv replied. Hiezal cursed and leapt back, glaring at the devices warily, and the demon hunter laughed harshly. "Of course, if they do phase us into the Nether plane I don't imagine we'll be much happier about it. Although it's possible to survive there, at least for a time, the Nether plane is a singularly unpleasant place."

Theril looked more interested in the ethereals waiting for them than the devices which enclosed them. "Is there anything we should know before entering that perimeter?"

"A list too long to go through here. Mostly, though, just concentrate really hard on which way down is." Without another word Nex walked forward through the devices, as calm as if he was taking a walk through a meadow. Although he began flickering slightly, as if he was disintegrating, there was no other change.

Hiezal snorted. "That's it?" He strode forward through the rift generators with a somewhat cocky swagger.

As soon as he stepped through them he went flying upwards and forwards as if punted by a hill giant, grunting in surprise and terror. He must have rose up out of the reach of the generators, for he became solid again, and immediately began falling back down into the area, at which point he was flung off in an entirely different direction, back towards them and to the right. He passed outside the generators once more, horizontally this time, but before he could slam into the ground Saire heard Lokiv calling out a spell, and a moment later the handsome elf froze, stationary, in levitation.

Lokiv walked calmly out of the enclosed space. "In the Nether planes," he said in a tone that could almost have been described as lecturing, if he didn't sound so mocking, "there is no corporeal form, and therefore no weight. You move by consciously willing yourself in a direction, and if you wish for gravity, or at least its approximation, you have to concentrate on which way you want down to be. I imagine the mages can do it. Nova, perhaps you and your men should wait out here."

Saire stared at her floating friend, and then after a moment tentatively stepped through the boundary, focusing hard on the ground and imagining herself being pulled downwards. For a fraction of a second as she passed through she felt herself begin to lurch sideways, the direction she had been intending to turn to face back the way she'd come, and it was only with effort that she managed to remain where she was, wobbling but motionless. Then she had a chance to look at the vaunted Twisting Nether, and couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. It looked the same as the outside had, although the air was perhaps a bit thicker and murkier, as if she were swimming through shadows that whirled and writhed chaotically around her. She focused so hard on one oddly purposeful stream of flowing shadows that to her alarm she found herself gliding along with it, and it took several moments of intense and panicked concentration to become still once more.

Lokiv passed back through the boundary, again with no apparent effort, and she couldn't help but be impressed at his iron mental discipline. "How many times have you traveled to the Nether plane?" she asked him.

He looked surprised. "Why the hell would I want to travel to the Nether plane?"

. . . . .

"I do apologize for the humble accommodations," Gava'sikh said apologetically in flawless Common. "I'm afraid you're the first corporeal visitors we've had the pleasure of entertaining, and your arrival caught us quite by surprise. Why, we haven't even had a chance to obtain suitable wrappings, and are forced to wear these drab rags."

"It is of no moment," Lokiv murmured politely, perched atop his containment crate and inhaling calmly at an oddly rectangular container filled with what appeared to be viscous air, aside from the fact that it smelled terrible. Saire looked dubiously at hers, but couldn't bring herself to try it, while her father hadn't even picked his up from the heptagonal sheet of crystal the ethereals had thrown atop four more containment crates to make a crude table. "When one is put upon, one does what one can. Particularly when one cannot call upon the full resources at his disposal."

The ethereal seemed pleased by that, although it was hard to tell considering it was a vaguely humanoid mass of solidified energy enclosed within somewhat unattractive rough strips of cloth. The creature managed to express at least the notion of human emotions quite well, considering. It turned towards Saire. "Do you not care for your liqueur, madame?"

Saire hesitated. "I...I'm not sure I want to try it. Thanks, though."

"Probably wise. It has never been tested on corporeals, although of course I find its effects quite enjoyable." Saire was amused to find that while Lokiv's carefully neutral expression didn't change, he did put the drink down, and with a bit more haste than necessary.

She put hers down as well, feeling a bit surreal to be concentrating hard to keep herself seated on her own containment crate, being hosted by a being from another plane with all the graciousness of an elvish gentleman of high standing. He had identified himself as Ambassador Gava'sikh of the Consortium, although who he was ambassador to on this rock scoured by netherstorms, and what the Consortium was, she had no idea.

"If I might impose, Master Thanarak," Gava'sikh began politely. "You do not seem to share the same unfamiliarity and discomfort in my presence which your companions do so well to hide. Have you had dealings with the Consortium before?"

Surprisingly enough, Lokiv had introduced himself to the ethereals by the name Nex Thanarak. He'd either made a slip, was gambling on none of them knowing who he was, or the necessity of using his real name with the nether creatures compelled him to take the risk.

"Thanarak is not a surname," Lokiv replied, if still polite perhaps a bit more sharply. "Please, call me simply Nex, or Nothing."

The ethereal did a commendable job of portraying amusement. "A very good play on words, Master Nex. I must apologize; I recognized the demonic nature of your name, but assumed it was a coincidence. I am, of course, happy to deal with the Burning Legion, provided you remember and abide by the Xxir'aka Compact."

It would be hard for most to tell, but Saire could see how Lokiv's mouth tightened at that. "I am not a demon, Master Gava'sikh, and am in no way affiliated with the Burning Legion."

Gava'sikh went oddly still, portraying confusion. "Naturally you are not, of course, Master Nex. I do humbly apologize if I have offended. I am afraid my only excuse is a rather marked lack of proficiency with corporeal etiquette."

"Nonsense," Lokiv demurred. "I imagine you understand my kind far better than I understand yours, and the mistake is mine for poorly explaining my situation."

"That can surely not be the case, for you certainly comport yourself well, and in any case fault surely lies with the host if he fails to understand his guest. But no matter, we now return to my original question, that being if the Consortium has had the pleasure of your patronage."

Saire watched the exchange with growing befuddlement. There was an almost dancelike quality to their conversation, where at the slightest chance one had given offense he immediately insulted himself and lavished praise on the other, and each strived diligently to match his manner and tone to the other's. She hadn't known Lokiv was capable of polite conversation, let alone this stately shuffle.

The human folded his hands neatly on the table. "Not the Consortium, I am afraid. My late mistress was pleased to have minor dealings with a group known as the Ixxiv Collective. Surely you cannot have heard of them?"

The ethereal went still again. "Indeed I have. How long ago were these dealings?"

"Long ago, I'm pleased to say, and no contact since."

"That is a relief, though it is to be expected. The Ixxivi have fallen on hard times recently, though they were never influential to begin with. Information pandering, mostly, and in truth little more than gossip-mongering." Gava'sikh paused for a long moment, as if in thought. "I suppose your contact with them can be forgiven, considering their difficult situation. Provided you are prepared to assure the Consortium that your patronage lies solely with us now."

"Certainly. If you have managed to be the ones selected for such a profound business venture as exploiting Outland your position must be quite solid. I imagine you can provide anything I could have a need of."

The ethereal seemed pleased at that. "Certainly we can, although I do not want to give you the wrong impression. We came out well in the Corporeal Rift War, but managed to secure only the lowest bid for the exploration and assessment contract. We might still face some competition for other ventures on Outland when the time for exploiting its resources has come." The cloth-bound creature turned to Saire. "If I might be so bold, word has reached us of others of your kind upon Outland. Could I ask if you represent them, and if so what your plans upon this world are?"

Saire opened her mouth to answer, but before she could Lokiv shot her a sharp look and shook his head slightly. Then he stood quite carefully, hands tucked behind his back. "I am offended, Ambassador Gava'sikh. Our bartering had struck an even balance up to this point."

Bartering? What in the world had they been bartering, while exchanging pleasantries over that vile liqueur? Saire thought furiously, and realized with astonishment that most every exchange had come in two segments: one providing a tidbit of information and asking for some in return, or at least expecting some; the other giving that information, at least as much as they thought the previous tidbit had earned, then holding out for more information before giving the rest. It hadn't seemed so to her, but there had been a great deal exchanged in the conversation.

"Again I am sorry, I seem to have misunderstood," Gava'sikh replied, standing as well, or at least mimicking the motion. "Were you her intermediary all along?"

"Neither she or the other are a part of this. They are not traders."

The comment had seemed innocuous enough, but to her surprise at hearing it the ethereal leapt backwards, expressing genuine dismay. Indeed even after its initial shock the Ambassador seemed shaken. "Why did you bring them, then?" it demanded.

Lokiv hesitated. "Again, my lack of understanding of Consortium etiquette has led me to make an egregious blunder. Perhaps I can amend by saying instead that both are apprentice traders, attending for purposes of education but allowed no part in the negotiations."

"Hold on a second," Saire interrupted, switching to Thalassian to keep the conversation private from the ethereal. "What exactly is wrong with not being a trader?"

Lokiv quirked his lips, appearing amused in spite of himself. "Don't bother switching languages. Ethereals speak every language."

"They... what...?" Saire stared at him in disbelief. "How is that possible?"

The demon hunter shrugged, moving to sit back at the table once more. "They are a race of traders. To say that it is what they exist for may be insulting to other races, such as goblins who merely live to trade. But for ethereals they literally exist in constant give and take, and would not be ethereals if they did not. I don't know how or why they can speak every language, but they can."

"Fine," she said, switching back to Common. "What's wrong with traders?"

Lokiv hesitated. "Nothing's exactly _wrong_ with traders. It's just..." he stopped, looking towards Gava'sikh. "In my inexperience I may explain this wrong," he said.

The ethereal waved its hands, though it also consented to sit back at its place. "I could not possibly speak to a non-trader, Master Nex. In any case your understanding is good enough that your ability to present it to one of your own is doubtless better than mine."

"As you wish." Lokiv paused, as if in thought, then finally turned to her. "As I said, ethereals exist to trade. They hold no scruples when it comes to it, because they assume that any other trader is also trying for the best deal possible. Even murder is in their eyes a sort of trade, that being the effort and danger involved in slaying, stacked against the reward. To prevent it they band together in trade organizations which are constantly competing for wealth." Saire began tapping her foot impatiently, wondering what any of that had to do with the creature's strange reaction to her not being a trader, and as if Lokiv sensed it he hurriedly continued. "In their eyes, talking to a non-trader is the equivalent of a stranger walking up to a young child and initiating a conversation. Entering into a trade deal with a non-trader would be the equivalent of tricking that child into going into their parent's house and stealing all their valuables for a handful of candy."

Saire had a hard time understanding a race of beings that so instinctively screwed each other over like that. Even goblins had scruples, although not many and easily bought.

Lokiv turned back to Gava'sikh. "I gave you a good deal of information there, both of what I knew and of the nature of my people. Combined with the breach of etiquette of you trying to wring valuable information from my apprentice, I believe something is required in return. What do the ethereals mean to do in Outland, long term?"

The ethereal hesitated. "This is a more valuable question than you seem to think, regardless of what is owed to you. It involves information about our operations that is, while not privy, at least less known, and could damage our reputation. I request that to meet the cost you answer the question I put to the female, or find a less costly question to ask me."

Lokiv appeared to think about this for a moment, then nodded. "We serve someone who means to claim the throne of Outland from the pit lord Magtheridon, and is even now battling him for it. I tell you this because the ethereals do not often fight when other forms of barter are available. If your interest in Outland is so great that you would contest us for it, you must tell me."

"Hardly that," the Ambassador said. "We operate even in locations controlled by or under the scrutiny of the Burning Legion, but we make no permanent plans for such locations. Even on worlds where the Burning Legion has been defeated, we never assume it will be safe to engage in long-term ventures. Historically the Legion has never given up on a world or dimensional aggregate they know the existence of. No matter how much time may pass, they always return to it in the end."

Lokiv seemed to be weighing the information, before he nodded. "More than the value, I estimate. So I will say that I am from such a world, and they have recently turned their eyes upon us once more." Saire felt a jolt at that, thinking of Azeroth: the Scourge that were puppets of the Burning Legion, the invasion of her home, the opening of the demonic gate in the ruins of Dalaran, and the appearance of Archimonde that signaled the beginning of the desperate battle that eventually culminated in the alliance of three factions and the costly victory at Hyjal. The thought that even after such a catastrophic defeat and the destruction of one of their most powerful lords the Burning Legion wouldn't give up was disheartening.

"You have my sympathy." And indeed Gava'sikh sounded quite sympathetic.

. . . . .

After a few grim moments Lokiv shook his head firmly. "Enough of bartering with inconsequential tidbits. As interesting as all this might be, my news hardly aids you and your news is hardly a surprise to me."

"Not so," the ethereal demurred. "It is never certain what patrons might find what information of value. What you throw aside might be picked up as a prize by another."

"Very well then," Lokiv replied. "Let's speak of value. Ethereals derive much amusement from their contact with the corporeal plane, and indeed love taking anything they might back from it as trinkets and souvenirs. While they might find objects of power or tomes of knowledge here, those things are mere perquisites rather than anything to be rigorously sought after. On the other hand there is no such thing as a similar flow of objects from the Nether plane. Nothing in the Nether plane can take such diverting or useful forms here on the corporeal plane, and so one is led to wonder what you have to offer that can be of value."

"That is for you to decide. As I said, we are an exploration and assessment operation. We have knowledge of useful resources, and possess maps of the area. If you so desire, we can even put our services to your use, provided the reward is high enough."

Lokiv looked a bit crestfallen. "All very attractive and useful, and might be valuable to us in the future. I should warn you that while I serve a larger body, my operation here is largely autonomous and I can't speak for my master. I do not have the resources for any of the previously mentioned services. I would be glad, however, for some less expansive-and expensive-information."

Saire looked between them in confusion. "You can't afford a _map_?" she asked incredulously.

"Maps are more valuable than your apprentice thinks," Gava'sikh answered. "Particularly ethereal maps, for they are made with exacting detail and give information on just about every feature of the land they cover."

Lokiv nodded impatiently. "There is your offer. Here is mine." He reached into the pack at his feet and rummaged around a bit. Saire watched with interest, wondering what incredible item he was about to draw forth. She found it hard to keep her face still when he withdrew... a roll of bandaging. "I have here ten ten-foot by two-inch lengths of runecloth."

The ethereal stared at the cloth, which was dyed a dull black, with some intensity. He didn't, however, fail to notice the looks on Saire's and Theril's faces. Her father, all through the conversation, had been characteristically silent, content to listen and ponder. But now, apparently, his expression had drawn the Ambassador's interest. "Interesting. A cosmetic improvement on my corporeal appearance in exchange for information. While I would have to assess its value to me, by the looks on your companions' faces it would seem to be less valuable to you. Explain it to me."

"Less valuable is a relative term. This is a cloth spellwoven for extra strength and toughness, easy to clean and holds its color well, and the spells imbued in it keep away pests which might otherwise consume it. Even on my own world it is neither common nor cheap, and it has the added bonus of being almost uniquely rare on this world, for I assure you that there will be little traffic between my world and this one. I have every confidence that for a long, long while it will be nearly the only cloth of its kind you can obtain."

"Ah, artificially restricted access to supply. Coupled with an appeal to vanity, novelty, and assurance of quality, even a humble offering may become a king's ransom." Gava'sikh was clearly interested, and amused as well. "Might I be so rude as to ask to sample it before even an agreement is made?"

"If you wish."

The ethereal took the cloth in its hands and bowed. "If you will excuse me; modesty prevents me from disrobing in the company of corporeals." Nex nodded his assent, and the Ambassador moved away in dignified haste.

As soon as he was gone Saire turned to him. "Are you sure he's not going to run off with that?"

Lokiv smiled. "A representative of a trade organization stealing during negotiations? Let me assure you there are very painful ways to die, even for ethereals, and Gava'sikh would wish for the worst of them if he was caught."

Saire nodded and leaned back away from the table with its mostly-untouched beverages. "You seem to know an incredible amount about them for having never been to the Nether plane."

"I'd never met one in person before now," Lokiv admitted. "But my mistress's dealings with the Ixxiv Collective in the form of magical communication were long and exacting, and the deal she sought required endless review of protocol and contracts. I learned a surprising amount in a surprisingly short time."

"What deal?" she asked, intrigued. This was the first time the human had spoken of any master other than Illidan.

The demon hunter looked away. "An exit location for a summoning portal spell," he said quietly. "The price was not cheap, but still I wondered why the ethereals asked so little for it. It turned out the price was greater than we'd feared."

"What was it?" she asked, subdued.

"It was..." his expression suddenly sharpened into a mocking smile, "...none of your business."

Saire went stiff with indignation for a moment, but pushed the emotion aside when her father leaned forward. "I'm far more interested in knowing why you used a different name to introduce yourself to the ethereals."

Lokiv glanced at her in an oddly knowing way, and she wondered if he suspected how much she knew of his identity and history. "A demonic name. I used it my previous time bargaining with ethereals. They appreciate continuity in their interactions, and using a different name would have been an insult to them."

"Am I to infer, then, that Lokiv is not your real name, and you've been lying to us about your identity this entire time?"

The human slowly stood, face going blank. "Considering that I've told you nothing of my identity, I can't very well have been lying to you. As to the other, you're welcome to infer whatever the hell you like."

Although the last phrase seemed innocuous, it struck her father like a blow, and he visibly paled. Before he could make an answer, or Lokiv could further berate him, the human turned to look farther back in the camp, and Saire looked as well to see that Gava'sikh was returning.

"I don't consider this conversation over," Theril warned just before the ethereal arrived.

"For your own health, you probably should," the human replied, then resumed his courtly airs and faced the ethereal. "I trust the sampling was to your satisfaction?"

"Quite so," Gava'sikh replied. "In fact it makes me look very presentable, and quite resists energy flare rupturing. I trust my return did not interrupt any private conversation?"

"The conversation is finished," Lokiv answered with a sharp look at Theril. "If you are pleased, then let us speak of barter. My people, as corporeals, are in need of organic sustenance, as well as sources of water."

"Ah, di-hydrogen monoxide." Gava'sikh nodded. "The building block of corporeal life."

"Any information you could provide about sources of sustenance and water would be greatly appreciated. As well, we need to know the specific location of a structure."

The ethereal waved him to silence. "Let us first deal with your food and water issues, shall we? This information you ask for is quite valuable, as both water and living organisms are highly exploitable resources. To give you their location all but bequeaths to you harvesting rights for said resources. Fine wrappings notwithstanding, it is an expensive thing you ask."

"I am sure you've already considered long-term ramifications. If we do not survive we cannot return to our people, at which point the goodwill you have earned with us will be lost. Consider it a bribe, to facilitate more lucrative agreements in the future."

The ethereal seemed amused. "You are sharp, human, and you understand our people well. Still, if I may make bold, you would survive such hardships without difficulty, so it is not such a motivating factor."

To her surprise Theril spoke up. "You assume that the human will be able to bring you blood elf contracts, which I assure you is not the case. If I die, you will have to introduce yourselves anew with my people, and you might find us less friendly in negotiations than you would wish."

Gava'sikh paused for a long while. "As you say, Apprentice Trader Theril. There is truth to your words. Though the human is your leader, you despise him." Saire was amused to see the ethereal making the gesture of rubbing his "chin". "Interesting. That information bears some reward. For that and five rolls of the cloth, I will tell you of nearby water sources. Water is more plentiful, and more vital to your survival."

"We might be traveling a long distance," Lokiv warned. "May we have all your known water sources on this continent?"

The ethereal sucked in a breath, also an affectation. It occurred to Saire that neither of the negotiators were showing genuine emotion. "If your travel is constant, resource usage would be minimal. Yes, I believe that is acceptable. What is this location you wish to know about?"

Lokiv's face was carefully blank. "A floating fortress known as Tempest Keep."

The ethereal conveyed surprise. "The naaru structure?"

At this Lokiv's face showed surprise as well, perhaps even shock, and Saire had a feeling it was at least partly genuine. He hadn't been expecting that. He didn't know what Prince Kael'thas had told Velansar. "I was led to believe it was a demonic construct."

Gava'sikh laughed. "Oh no, Master Nex. It is most certainly a naaru construct, a blending of draenic and naaru technology."

"But I was told it is inhabited by demons."

"This could be so. We have not fully scouted the construct, as it is outside the radius of our second-degree prospecting." The ethereal appeared thoughtful for a moment. "If it is indeed inhabited by demons to have your forces capture it would be of benefit to us as well, for you would be eliminating a Burning Legion foothold on our very doorstep. We will give you this information for free. But, unfortunately, the keep _is_ mobile, and it has moved twice since we became aware of it. In order to properly find it you will need a guide, and while the information is free, the services of one of my people is most definitely not."

Lokiv smiled. "I think I have just the thing," he said, digging into his pack once more and withdrawing more rolls of cloth.

"Oh?" Gava'sikh asked sharply. "This cloth is different from runecloth."

Lokiv's smile widened. "It is indeed. Still very high quality, and very rare. Only not so rare or of as high quality as runecloth. It is called mageweave. It is a suitable payment for a subordinate aiding us at his master's behest."

The ethereal actually laughed. "Ah. It seems you do know our people very well indeed."


	14. Tempest in a Teapot

Finally getting back to the main plot after all the traveling is done. Yay! My poll hasn't gotten many responses so I'll probably leave it up long term for anyone who's interested in sharing their opinion. It's on my profile page.

Chapter Thirteen

Tempest in a Teapot

The Black Temple had once been the greatest of all draenei holy places. Once lovely in its own way, with great soberness and gravity and an unconquerable majesty. The airy, vaulted halls were massive enough to accommodate naaru, and whispers abounded that at times in the past those revered god-beings of the Light had been seen within its sacred halls.

But the Legion conquered all. The holiness had been defiled, the beauty stripped away and become a mockery. Lewd images and vile blasphemies covered the walls, drawn in blood and viscera, and the gravity and soberness had deepened and widened into a deep, impenetrable gloom that quelled the staunchest heart. This holy place had become a pit of demons.

Outside Magtheridon's throne room the sounds of fighting raged. Shrieks and snarls from the mouths of his minions, called orders and screams from the intruders. The clash of metal on metal or metal on stone, the thud of flesh being rent and battered. The sound of a siege ending, and not to the pit lord's benefit.

Magtheridon did not know how the interloper Illidan had broken his flawless defenses. He did not know how the legions within the temple were being driven back. There was a ferocity to his enemies that rivaled that of the most depraved demon.

But he did not fear.

Standing in clusters about the massive chamber his highest officers scrambled to regroup. Shivarran High Priestesses, Dread Generals, Eredar Grand Warlocks, all trying to organize, to respond, to an attack that should not have been possible. Many of the priestesses were praying to Sargeras and older, darker powers for guidance and strength. The generals were sharpening their massive claws, preparing for one final feast. And the eredar, no surprise for their cunning but cowardly kind, were trying to pool their power and create a portal with which to escape.

Fools.

The chaos of the throne room abruptly became pandemonium as shivarrans shrieked, severed arms flying away and deep slashes appearing on their deceptively soft-seeming flesh. Nathrezim snarls became gurgles as their throats were cut, and eredar spells flew wild, seeking the invisible attackers. At the door the clamor became an uproar as a dozen blood elf warriors, mages and Spell Breakers, drove his minions back into the room. And from the shadows slipped the twisted shapes of Broken draenei, their toothy mouths twisted into snarls of hatred as they cut at their enemies with oddly curved weapons.

Through it all Magtheridon sat calm. He was lord of Outland. These insects would not take his seat from him.

The fighting raged for several minutes, and many among the enemy fell. There were demon lords in his ranks, minor ones perhaps but powerful, and they did not fall without a fight. But finally only the enemy remained standing, reduced and bloodied but grim, arrayed in a half circle facing him.

Then an order from the entrance called them back, and a demonic figure strode into the room. Flanked by a powerful blood elf sorcerer on one side and one of the odd snake-like creatures on the other, equally powerful, this had to be Illidan. The double betrayer. Consuming the Skull of Gul'dan had twisted the creature's body into a more powerful form, but Magtheridon was not concerned.

Magtheridon rose from his enormous throne, adamantite chestplate clanging deafeningly against the stone as he shifted. In his hands he held a mighty spiked mace and a monstrous spiked axe; the weight of either would have simply crushed one of the insects standing before him. "You were wise to call your creatures back, minion of Kil'jaeden. They would have flailed against me like ants trying to bring down a Verges scarab, to similar results. As will you. I am god of Outland, and none of the rabble I see before me has the power to defeat me, let alone treat with me. But come, and let us decide this conflict now in combat mortal."

"As you wish. But I have no intention of killing you." Illidan moved forward, the mighty blades of the Doomguard Commander Azzinoth in his hands. Legend had it that in the ten thousand years since slaying the powerful demon lord Illidan had become even more adept with the weapons than their original owner had ever been. A not unlikely possibility: Azzinoth had been a fool and a braggart. But his weapons were very powerful, and Magtheridon had once coveted them. He would have them soon.

As the demonic night elf approached, he turned to call orders back to his two commanders. "Be sure every drop of his blood is gathered. We will have use for it."

. . . . .

Their guide turned out to be an unbound ethereal called Cryo-Engineer Hav'naki. Nex hadn't heard the title in his dealings with the Ixxiv Collective, and so had no knowledge as to its significance or social status. That the unbound creature had been involved with tapping the netherstorm lower down the ravine suggested it was some sort of specialist, and highly placed.

Hav'naki heard Gava'sikh's proposal, soberly accepted the commission, and withdrew with the mageweave bandages to wrap himself. When he returned his movements had an oddly stilted cast to them, as if while he made the motions of walking he was in fact floating, and when he moved quickly he left an odd sort of residual image behind him. It was obvious the Cryo-Engineer had far less experience with being bound with wrappings than the Ambassador did.

With their business concluded Nex politely excused himself, Hav'naki at his side and Saire and Theril trailing behind. He was satisfied with how the trade went, truly satisfied, but at the same time more than a little angry, and deeply regretting bringing the blood elves along. Better to present himself without a retinue than to bring along idiots who couldn't keep their mouths shut.

The blood elves had given the ethereals more than they'd thought, when they'd hinted at dissensions in his ranks. Hadn't he just got finished telling them that ethereals used any means to make a profit? They were as far from above using internal coups to put a more sympathetic leader in place as a deepsea grouper was above the ground.

Yet that fool Theril had tossed that information out, like a boy throwing nuggets of pure gold at a passing oxen. He was sure Gava'sikh would exploit it, which meant he had to be ready to counter any attempts they made. Coupled with the open hostility within the blood elf ranks, his task was becoming more and more difficult. And he was certain Gava'sikh had set their guide to exploiting any openings he might come across.

Cryo-Engineer Hav'naki appeared perfectly at ease as he passed through the planar rift generators into the quasi-corporeal ground of Netherstorm continent. His bandages weighed him down but slightly, so he was able to better approximate walking, but at any turn of speed that odd residual image followed him, as if the past was trying to reach out and grasp him. After they'd gone another hundred or so yards the ethereal "turned" to him. "Now that we are away from the outpost, perhaps I could speak to you concerning your apparent sustenance shortage."

"Making deals behind your superior's back?" Nex asked with a wry smile.

The Cryo-Engineer shrugged. "Your people are resourceful, it is probable they would find biological entities to consume in any case. I would merely profit from it, and ease your mind and your efforts in that regard. Ambassador Gava'sikh would have no way of proving I'd done so."

Nex inclined his head. "And your price?"

"Rather self-evident, I assure you. There are often surprising treasures to be found among the primitive engineering efforts of less developed races. I should like to, ah, I believe the expression is "pick the brain" of any engineers you might have in your camp."

Nex glanced back at Theril, who shook his head. "I'm afraid we're lacking in that regard, Cryo-Engineer Hav'naki. The blood elf race, as a whole, possesses far more expertise in magic than in science."

The ethereal managed to convey disappointment. "I see. It is to be expected, I suppose. Many primitive races cling to magic as a crutch."

Theril stiffened. "I beg your pardon, ethereal?"

"No offense to present company, of course," Hav'naki continued smoothly.

"I take exception to your assertion that magic implies primitivity. I assure you my race has existed for tens of thousands of years, and through that time have refined and perfected our use of magic beyond anything the fool goblins or gnomes could accomplish with their silly gadgets. Magic, in my experience, is far superior to engineering."

Hav'naki looked torn between not wanting to offend, and wanting to vehemently disagree. "I cannot qualify your absolute, Master Theril, having no knowledge of variables you present within it. I can only assume ignorance allows you to spout such absurdities. Magic is, and has always been, simple brute force. You can use a hammer to break apart a stone, but you cannot use a hammer to paint a masterpiece. Anyone who considers magic to be superior has no grasp of the inevitability of the future."

"Perhaps you would like to expound upon that notion?" Theril said with brittle politeness, still looking extremely offended.

"Endlessly, my good blood elf. Magic is, and always will be, limited by the people who wield it. It is very rare for one to be born with the skill in magic to push back the horizons of what magic has in the past accomplished. Engineering, on the other hand, is limited only by the creativity of a subtle mind, and those who come after will build upon the achievements of those who've come before. Its potential is unquantifiable for its boundaries are constantly pushed back, revealing new horizons of possibility. I would venture to say that, much as you may sneer at these goblin and gnome engineers you mention, their innovations prove far more useful on the battlefield than your own magic."

Theril scowled. "That is most certainly not the case."

"I must assume, then, that engineering has not advanced far enough among your people."

"I would not say so," Nex said. He could envision the massive tram system the gnomes had built, allowing speed of travel that made even flying by gryphon seem slow. Ships relied on cannons, not mages, in naval combat, and steam tanks and gnomish flying machines properly used decimated enemy forces. And gnomes were fond of insisting that explosives were the primitive fossils of engineering, still useful but hopelessly obsolete. Even goblins, who made pyrotechnics their specialty, readily admitted that they did so because that field was most lucrative in a world torn by war. "Magic is the tool of heroes and generals, but engineering constructs bolster the rank and file. And it is becoming more so. Guns outstrip bows, tanks replace knights, flying machines are more efficient and potentially dangerous than dragonhawks, and the list goes on."

"Just so, Master Nex," Hav'naki said, sounding satisfied. "But I will admit one thing. The power of engineers is in their tools, while the power of magic is in its wielder. In my own plane, properly equipped, I would be a force to be reckoned with, but here I am surrounded by spellcasters who would make short work of me."

"What the hell is that?"

Nex snapped his head around to glare at the steep hill ahead, where Nova and his two guards lounged. "Nova, may I introduce Cryo-Engineer Hav'naki. He will be guiding us to Tempest Keep and, provided we have anything which interests him, directing us towards food."

"Why is he wrapped in mageweave bandages?"

Nex was about to give a sharp retort when Hav'naki cut in smoothly. "It constrains my energy on the corporeal plane into distinct boundaries, making it more easily manageable. As well, it provides a slight amount of mass for my energy to act upon, making movement less complex, if more restraining."

"Fair enough," Hiezal said, staring at the ethereal in open interest. "What's it like being on this plane, for you?"

"Since you ask, quite appalling actually. Although I don't like to complain to my hosts about such things."

"Let's go back to camp," Nex said tersely, starting forward again. Nova fell into place ahead of him with the two guards flanking, while the Cryo-Engineer fell back to walk beside Theril.

"If I might make so bold, Master Theril, perhaps there is some potential for barter. Tens of thousands of years, as you say, is quite a long time for a race to refine and improve its spellforms. I'm constantly alert for areas in which magic can replace less productive mundane means within an engineering context. The turbines that harness ether, if you will. To say that engineering will outstrip magic's potential is not to say that magic won't always be of some use, if properly harnessed. Perhaps I could benefit from your race's remarkable expertise, in exchange for information you might find valuable."

"We will have to speak of it at some length, I am sure. But later. With my old bones, such discourse in the middle of a march is not ideal."

Hav'naki was immediately solicitous. "Of course. I apologize for failing to realize your skeletal framework was suffering from the detriment of age, or to understand how that affects your respiratory system. My knowledge of corporeal systems is somewhat lacking."

Theril sounded amused. "Simply a turn of phrase, Cryo-Engineer."

"Ah. Of course, a mistake in translation on my part. I took your words to be literal. While I can of course grasp the meaning of any word you may speak, phrases which have figurative or metaphorical meaning escape me, for I lack the understanding of their contextual background."

"I shall be more careful in the future," Theril replied solemnly, though still with an undercurrent of amusement.

They fell silent as they continued, moving at a good pace. Now that they had a guide Nex was already looking forward to the next phase of the mission, considering the possible defenses of this Tempest Keep. If it was truly a naaru structure it was possible the demons who'd taken it had yet to learn to utilize its full potential. Mo'arg and gan'arg technicians were fiendishly clever, but tended to be far more derivative than innovative, stealing the technologies of worlds they conquered and using it in their own twisted ways. But if-

He stopped dead, forcing those behind to do so as well, as his Illidari stone's passive mana influx abruptly ceased. Shocked, he reached into the reserves he so desperately wanted to tap and found them empty, though he hadn't used the thing in weeks.

"What is it, human?" Theril asked warily from behind.

Nex ignored him. Had his master grown tired of waiting and concluded he'd failed or fled, cutting him off? If such was the case than he would be dead, not merely deprived of his master's power, although there was certainly time for such a thing to happen. He could plainly feel the hole Stormrage had ripped into his soul to create the link, and it felt emptier and more numbly painful than it had since the first.

He stiffened his knees, forcing himself to breathe through a throat constricted in fear. Other eventualities might have presented himself. Stormrage might be fighting an enemy that required all his power, and so he'd deprived his minions of power through the stones in consequence. Or perhaps this was a warning to him that it had been many weeks since he'd been given this task. He feared to contact his master lest he distract Stormrage from some desperate task, so all he could do was wait and see if he himself was contacted.

"It is nothing," he said tersely, continuing on. But when they got back to camp the blood elves were oddly restive, in greater spirits than they ever had been, and this before learning of an ethereal guide. Velansar himself was actually smiling, though that smile turned to a suspicious scowl when he saw Hav'naki.

Still, Nex could only assume the blood elf Captain had some means of contacting his master, and news had arrived. Good news. Were Stormrage's forces battling for control of the Black Temple at this moment? No way to be certain, but it was a possibility.

. . . . .

There it was, the demon-infested naaru keep they were charged with assaulting. Nex fell into a crouch beside Hardal and Hav'naki, gazing up at it thoughtfully as his other officers stood behind.

It was a massive structure, floating in the air with four satellite structures hovering above it protectively. The main structure was huge, crystalline in appearance. It connected to the continent by a single slender bridge, and at the base of that bridge was a small settlement of permanent stone dwellings with dozens of ramshackle tents clustered about them. The satellite structures looked similar to the main structure, but smaller and free-floating. He had no idea how one was supposed to reach them.

"It doesn't look like anything I've ever seen," Saire whispered by his side. "I've heard of the naaru, but never of them possessing technology."

Nex shook his head. "They themselves have little need for technology. This is a collaboration with the draenei, is it not?" he asked Hav'naki.

"Indeed. The naaru seem to favor the draenei, and have aided them in fleeing from planet to planet as the Burning Legion pursue."

Nex nodded. His gaze, covering the entire region in a slow, thorough sweep, froze at something in the settlement at the base of the bridge, and he stiffened and motioned the other blood elves, standing at their leisure, to the ground. "Eredar," he hissed.

"What?" one of the blood elves asked in confusion. He remained standing in plain sight like an idiot. Rather than wasting time repeating his unspoken order, Nex seized control of the elf's mind and forced him to the ground, then released him. "Eredar," he said again, striving for patience. "More rare among the Burning Legion's ranks. They're usually officers and spellcasters, so they don't go near the front of the conflict very often." It was odd to see eredar out there alone, without rank after rank of imps, infernals, and fel guards protecting them. Perhaps the Burning Legion was so confident of its control of the area that it didn't feel the need to swarm the fortress with lesser minions. He'd seen no hint of demons anywhere nearby, but then he'd seen no hint of enemies for demons to fight either. He and his army seemed to be alone on this continent aside from the ethereals.

"My experience of eredar has them looking much different than these," Eldre'Theril argued. "Certainly they have the demonic hooves and the tail, and the smaller ones have horns. But all are smaller, and their coloring is different."

Nex strained his eyes to look closer. He wasn't used to relying on normal sight, but the constant storm of the twisting nether made using his second sight an agony. The elder was right, after a fashion. These eredar did appear smaller, although size was hard to judge at this distance. And their skin did range from dark gray to dusky blue rather than the usual fel red. He didn't sense any demonic taint on them either, but that was little surprise coming from the race of spellcasters. Were they a lower caste of the creatures? Perhaps a caste of thralls like the orcish peons? It would make sense to see such creatures occupying a fortified structure deep in Burning Legion territory.

Still, better to not assume the redder, nastier types of eredar weren't around waiting to rain hellfire on them.

After a moment he backed away from the ridge, motioning the others to join him. "Let's assume that the demon lord that Stormrage wants us to capture is in the main structure." Just the mention of their target had the blood elves licking their lips almost hungrily. Their mission, their prize; a massive source of fel energy to draw from to feed their addiction. Even Saire's beautiful features were drawn into an unsettling expression. Nex looked away; his own feeding on fel energies sort of stole the moral high ground away, but it was still an ugly thing to see. "It's likely that if we can break through the settlement's defenses fast enough we can be on the main structure before it can break away. The four satellites will be no problem as long as they remain separate, but if they close in to offer reinforcements we'll have to have teams ready to repel boarders."

"Repel boarders?" Saire repeated with a mocking twist of her lips.

"Sea or air, the target still has only a limited number of areas where docking and offloading of troops is possible. If we secure them then the satellites will be largely neutralized." Nex hesitated. "Assuming, of course, that they don't have some sort of demonic weaponry they can turn on the main structure."

"And if they do?" one of Nova's guards asked.

Nex smiled widely. "Then we get to explore the mysteries of the twisting nether a bit sooner than anticipated." He waved that aside before any more objections could be raised. "Small danger, however. The main structure has all the most important functions, including housing the demon lord itself. It's doubtful they'll fire on it except as a last resort. With any luck we'll have taken control of it long before then."

"And what if they're more wary than anticipated, and the structure breaks away from the bridge before we can board it?"

Nex grimaced. "Then we learn how to fly or wait until it returns to land. Unless you want to go back and report failure to Stormrage." A few of the officers winced at the prospect. Nex waved that aside too. "Now shut up and let's prepare a plan of attack that avoids that eventuality."

. . . . .

_She ran through the towering trees of Terrokar, lightly springing over underbrush and through twisty paths between clutching twigs. No sun shone so deep within the trees, but by the Light, how she shined!_

_She was as slender and graceful as a forest nymph, laughing at his lumbering attempts to catch her. Her forehead horns had been exhaustively polished and twisted teasingly, while her hooves were trimmed perfectly and served to accentuate her delicate grace. Her slender tail had been braided with bells which jingled merrily, guiding him through the woods whenever she was out of sight, which was not often; she was fleeing him, but not _too_ seriously._

_The noises ahead stopped and he slowed, confused, looking around warily. He'd gone almost twenty yards further before with a peal of giggles she burst out of a softpetal bush to the side, using one slender hand atop his forehead plate to vault over him, hooves flashing, before she was gone. He laughed as well, feeling that sort of happy foolishness that only came from one completely besotted. Her skin was soft as water, the perfect deep blue of a kaliri egg. It beckoned him on._

_It seemed like an eternity she slipped through the maze of forest paths, bells twinkling, while he lumbered behind. But finally she reached their hidden spot and allowed herself to be "captured". She rushed around the edges of the little clearing with its floor of downy bracken, her giggling growing louder and louder, until finally she shrieked in delight as he caught her around the waist and threw her to the ground. Laughing, hopelessly winded, he fell alongside her, running his fingers along the smooth dark tendrils tucked behind her long, delicately curved ears. "Slowpoke," she whispered, nuzzling his chest._

_Exarch Veilan Hopesprings sucked in a bittersweet breath, taking in her scent. Strange, that so many things should fade but this remained unspoiled in his memory. "So slow," he whispered back, hugging her fiercely. Tears came unbidden to his eyes. "But I'll never stop chasing."_

_Sometimes the dream lasted much longer with him caught in the moment, memory and grief hidden behind a veil of happiness. But always he remembered in time. He didn't know if he dreamed of her so often because she was the only thing he continued to care about in life, or because the Light blessed him with unspoiled memories to counter the horrors he had witnessed. Perhaps both. But when the realization that he dreamed came he was always filled with equal parts grief and hope. Grief for this life, hope that it ended soon and he could join his beloved Jileena in the Light._

_He hugged her tighter, remembering decades of sleeping with her a warm comfort at his side. "I'll never stop chasing, but a wall separates us for the moment. In another life we'll be together." She murmured against him in blank incomprehension, for in his dreams he couldn't bear to see her spoiled with even a hint of the grief that lay in their future. She simply lay beside him in the warm, dim forest._

_The Light brought all things into this world, and it would take them out in its own righteous time. Until then he must press on. Until then he _would_ press on, though the pain of memories was nearly as great as the physical pain._

. . . . .

When he awoke he couldn't move.

He had woken this way for years, and yet each time he awoke and realized his muscles were as stiff as old leather he felt overwhelming panic, terrified that this time they would remain stiff and he would never have use of them again.

Struggling to keep his breathing level he began gradually flexing and unflexing them, working them loose. Each time he flexed it came with an odd numb tingling sensation, as if just that slight exercise was tearing his muscles the way lifting weight beyond his strength had in his youth. If he became impatient and tried to go too fast a pain developed in the right side of his chest, as if corruption had wrapped around his lung and too much effort squeezed it. He feared, as well, that one day that lung would collapse, and he'd become bedridden struggling to live with only one.

Minutes passed as his efforts continued. Even after he could finally move he went through a lengthy and detailed stretching routine, working every muscle he could manage. It was very light work, but by the end of it he always felt as exhausted as if he'd run twenty miles. By the time he had enough control of his body to get out of bed, he usually wanted nothing more than to collapse back in. And by the time he actually did succumb to sleep, much earlier than anyone else in camp, he could barely move for the pain. But even so each morning upon waking and each night before sleep took him he spent an hour stretching, keeping his muscles loose. It was all he knew how to do to slow further degeneration.

Finally he was ready to leave his tiny hut, and he exerted special effort to straighten his back and take calm, measured steps out through the hanging cloth that made up his door. He tottered the first few steps, but he hadn't fallen on his tail yet and he didn't mean to anytime in the near future. Outside he took a deep breath, trying to ignore the horrific sky that had replaced the peaceful vista which wreathed Draenor before the horrible cataclysm rocked it. Then he set off on his rounds.

"Good morning, Exarch Hopesprings!" a refugee youth called out. The creature was one of the Lost Ones, the Broken draenei. Odd that out of good people corrupted and devolved to the core, life could still emerge in the form of children. The lass smiled tight-lipped, ashamed of her mouthful of razor teeth but happy to see him. "Taking a break from your studies?"

He smiled back, though it was becoming more and more difficult to smile these days. And not just because of his affliction. "Fresh air is good for you. I just wish I had the energy to play like you children."

She laughed, and he wondered how such innocence could exist in such a tainted vessel. "You're the Exarch. With the Light you could run a million miles!"

It became to difficult to maintain his smile, and he bid the young thing farewell and hurried on. No one knew of his affliction, not even those closest to him. He had no fear that his people would despise him for it, or fear its effects. It was more that he was the backbone upon which these poor refugees rested, and without his strength they might sink into despair. He could not afford to seem weak, and he could not afford to be weak.

Still, a small treacherous part of himself wished that he'd taken more than a whiff of that foul warlock's piss during the fall of Shattrath. Those who hadn't died to it had become horribly devolved, losing their connection to the Light and in many cases their sanity and wits. But at least they were hale, in their own way as strong of body as their unspoilt brothers. By the grace of the Light the small breath he'd inhaled while fleeing to the upper tiers had done no more than plant a tiny seed of corruption within him, and the Light helped to keep it at bay. But he knew, like so many other demonic influences, that nothing would halt its spread, and though he was not old he would die of it before too many more years. Perhaps before too many more months.

The refugee camp around him seemed no better than it had a week ago, or a month. He'd long since lost the energy to inspire his people to make of the place a more comfortable, permanent home, and most of them hoped that they'd be allowed to either board Tempest Keep or one of its satellites, or that the call would finally come to return to a rebuilt Shattrath.

He'd only been walking for ten minutes, but he already felt far more weary than he had a right to. His chest and arm were starting to become numb and tingle, and his breath came in pants. With a sigh he turned back to his tiny hut. His "studies" were in part genuine, as he perused the holy texts his people had preserved, both for inspiration and for strength. But mostly they were an excuse for him to remain undisturbed, freed from the duties that would have quickly exhausted him and made obvious to all that he was not all right.

The call to return _must_ come soon. Even though the Lost Ones, ogres, half-ogres, and demons separated his small group from those rebuilding Shattrath, the call must come. They could all board Tempest Keep and fly over the hostile lands to the city. It hadn't happened yet because M'uru and Grand Anchorite Nalan feared that to bring the floating fortress into the middle of Outland would draw the attention of Magtheridon and his minions, causing them to fall upon Shattrath before the city's defenses were prepared. This continent wracked by its arcane anomalies was all but unpopulated, nobody to discover the keep and betray its presence to their enemies.

Still, the refugees were beginning to starve, the barrenness of the continent working against them. And strange sightings had been reported of creatures like void demons moving with purpose towards the center of the continent, as well as odd creatures wrapped like the honored dead from the Auchindoun crypts, except with nothing but energy filling the wrappings. It was only a matter of time before things _must _change, and if not for the better than for the worst.

With a pained grunt he sank into his bed, drawing one of the holy texts before him. The words of the great Anchorites of tens of thousands of years of draenei history, speaking to him though their bones were dust, inspiring him with the majesty and purpose of their cause.

For millennia the draenei had dreamed of preparing their people to join the Army of the Light under the leadership of the naaru and openly battle the Burning Legion and their fallen Eredar brothers. Draenor, the Exile's Refuge, had been found three hundred or so years ago, and they'd flocked to its peaceful prairies intending it only as a place to stop and regroup. And though they'd only known peace for a long time, draenei children trained in preparation for the day that they could stop running and begin the fight. Only those preparations had saved them when the Burning Legion turned their peaceful neighbors the orcs against them. But their attempts at organizing and defending had been too slow, their people too complacent and peaceable.

Too damn slow, too damn complacent. It was Veilan's continual lament, as he'd shepherded the shattered remnants of his people. He'd called himself Vindicator for years, wandering alone through the world slaying orcs and demons he came across, until his affliction forced him to return. And until the naaru had returned he had given up hope. But now, now things could be different, as long as they could be faster, more filled with purpose and resolve, than they had been in the past. He just needed to find the right words to inspire his people to rebuild just one more time, and-

_Look to the west, husband!_

Veilan surged to his feet, feeling the Light batter at his corrupted mind, trying to warn him.

_West, husband. Warn our people!_

Veilan pushed to his feet with a grunt. Was it an attack, then? The attack he'd dreaded for so long? Mercy's burden, but he was tired. And his people were not prepared.

He had to get warning to Tempest Keep. It _must_ not fall into enemy hands, for it was the final hope for his people if the Shattrath reclamation failed.

. . . . .

The blood elves had none of the frightening stealth night elves in their own forests boasted, yet they knew how to keep low to the ground and use the area's numerous fissures as cover. It helped that they were small and the land was cracked and pitted, and the constant nether storms made detection by magical means far more difficult.

It also helped that Nex went ahead of them, butchering the blue eredar sentries.

The blue eredar weren't unwary by any stretch of the imagination, but the blood elves managed to get within a hundred yards of the outlying buildings before an alarm was raised. Nothing so subtle as a horn ringing out in the distance, or a raised hue and cry. Instead, the four satellites of the keep began pulsing a blinding bluish white light that flooded the area and exposed their positions. Even more of a problem, eredar rushed out to the satellites' balconies and began hurling magical attacks down on them.

Nex cursed and sprinted for the bridge. The tactical stupidity of outpacing his reinforcements and likely stranding himself on the floating keep wasn't lost on him, but he ignored it for the moment. Luckily most of the magical attacks from the eredar were targeting his blood elves; either they hadn't seen him or they didn't think a lone assailant was worth a focused attack when there were over sixty blood elf raiders charging in.

He entered an area where the main structure blocked out the brilliant glare of two of the four satellites, which was by no means dark but was at least more shadowed, but he hadn't gotten much farther than the shadow's line before it wavered around him, and he heard a deafening _crack_ from up ahead.

"Felshit," he snarled, watching the bridge crack and start to break in places. Slender as it looked, it was still a major structure. What kind of security demanded that it be destroyed at the first hint of attack? Just what was in that damn keep that was so important? And how had they been forewarned enough to immediately break free?

So much for their godsdamn plan of attack. He didn't have much longer to worry about it, though, because a few moments later eredar began pouring out of the stone structures of the settlement around him, strange weapons of living purple crystal in hand. They were well armored in scale shirts and breeches of some tan-laquered metal, and though at this distance he could see they definitely _were_ smaller than the usual eredar, they certainly didn't seem to be any sort of working caste.

. . . . .

Veilan raised his greatsword into the air. "Refugees into the main structures. Soldiers to me!" He was relieved to see that Tempest Keep had broken away and was withdrawing to safety. But the pink-skinned attackers were already among the buildings, cutting fleeing refugees and soldiers down.

His people surrounded him, with any weapons that they had and some they improvised. The tools for stonecutting and carving, great mauls and chisels and small rags filled with blasting powder. Some actually carried stones, hurling them or wielding them like bulky clubs.

But the creatures they faced were like no enemy Veilan had seen before. Ogres were massive, powerful brutes, but they were slow. Orcs were faster, but still more reliant on strength than speed. Draenei, in fact, tended to be the swiftest creatures on Draenor, though most draenei warriors leaned more towards the role of anchorite or exarch or mage than any melee role. Some among the buildings farther back were indeed casting healing spells on their brethren, or calling down the Light to smite their enemies. And behind on Tempest Keep and its satellites their full complement of mages and healers were struggling to protect the refugees even as the floating constructs withdrew out of range, leaving the refugees to defend themselves as the protocols dictated.

The main force of enemies were charging right down the main street of the refugee camp, riding half a dozen strange birdlike creatures. They had left refugees and noncombatants behind them, their goal obviously to break through the defenses and get to Tempest Keep, but now that it had broken away they were crying out what sounded like curses and slowing their charge, turning in a more leisurely way to cut down his people without mercy.

"Orderly retreat to the bridge!" Veilan yelled. The enemy was swift and well-trained, and obviously bent on bloodshed. Better to back away and regroup before trying to fight them.

But what sort of enemy were they? He had seen the humans which came through the Dark Portal from the land called Azeroth. But the humans had been intent on killing orcs, and for the most part were bulkier and more muscled than these. Also humans had tiny ears, where these creatures had ears that extended half a foot or more above their heads.

Elves, perhaps? He had heard of elves which joined the humans' expedition and were fighting in Terrokar, though he'd never seen any and the cataclysm made it doubtful he ever would, unless these creatures were.

From his conversations with humans he knew that elves shared no ancestry with them, which meant there was no shame in killing the creatures, though the humans under Khadgar had proved honorable.

His people were retreating fairly well, which placed him at the front of the battle. He didn't have the stamina for more than a few major bursts of effort, and running was out of the question. It looked like the time to rejoin his beloved had come. Fast and determined as these enemies were, he would take a few of them down with him.

One of the elves rushed past the other draenei still ahead of him, probably having heard his shouted orders and identifying him as a leader. The creature was lean and flaxen-haired, and oddly enough bore a smile on his face. Not the smile of bloodlust and delight in the slaughter that he'd seen on countless orc and ogre faces, but an expression of amusement, if he was any judge.

What sort of madman found battle amusing? Even orcs took war and the supposed honor that came with it very, very seriously.

"Setha mal'aven du highborne hai?" the creature asked, twirling his sword through a flashy routine. Not Common, and Veilan had no means of knowing whether the creature spoke that language.

He stood still, calming his breathing, as the enemy approached. Since his affliction had struck him he'd adopted a fighting style that involved remaining still until the last possible moment, then dodging and striking a killing blow. It had worked in the past against slow, unskilled enemies, or enemies so crazed by battle that they abandoned caution for a quick kill.

The elf darted forward, blade flashing, and Veilan set his foot and slammed his greatsword into the elf's longsword right at the hilt, knocking it from the creature's hands. He swung a vicious counterattack and the elf, eyes wide, barely managed to duck beneath it, although his sword glanced off his scalp, cutting a gash.

"Ter'vanu," the creature snarled, throwing itself into a roll and picking up its sword as it went. As soon as he had his feet under him the elf rushed forward again, again striking a swift blow that Veilan dodged, counterattacking with all his speed and skill. His slash hit only air, and the elf cut a long gash along his right forearm.

Veilan leaped backwards, feeling his strength draining as if through a sieve as he struggled to keep up with this swift, tenacious opponent. Desperately he called to the Light, but only a trickle of power answered his call, his affliction cutting him off from his source of strength when he needed it most.

Somehow the elf flanked him even as he leapt, sword flashing, and Veilan couldn't block. He felt a stinging hit on his side, and another on his shoulder. Then the elf kicked his legs out from under him and slammed his sword out of his hands, kicking it aside.

"Mercy," Veilan begged in Common. The elf didn't seem to understand him as he rested the tip of his sword against Veilan's throat.

But the killing blow never came.

. . . . .

The blood elves were running pell-mell, some stopping to gawk at the swiftly departing bulk of Tempest Keep, others darting among the dozens of creatures fleeing their attack.

But around Nex the eredar were fighting, not fleeing. "Kohnar mash'kinov!" one shouted at him. Whatever the language was, it wasn't demonic. Spell or warning, Nex responded by gathering a devastating mental attack and launching it before the eredar had spoken the first word. It was never a good idea to let a spellcaster talk freely. To his surprise the blue eredar staggered but didn't go down, and the next magical attack Nex launched was completely pushed aside by a magical shield. If he didn't know better he would have said it was a paladin's shield.

The eredar lunged forward, swinging its odd weapon. Tendrils of the purple crystal drifted out as if eager to reach him. He was just as eager for them _not_ to reach him, so he ducked into a roll and slammed a dagger enchanted for slaying demons into the back of the eredar's knee as he rolled past. The creature bellowed in pain, but didn't give any other sign that it had just been struck with a weapon infused with spells to attack its very demonic essence.

Still, a dagger in the knee slowed the eredar down more than he would have expected for something with a demon's stamina; the creature was still turning as he came to his feet behind it and began casting a shadowbolt spell.

The eredar recoiled at the sight of his spellcasting, "Dishfan il warlock?" it said, sounding shaken. When Nex answered by sending the the spell lashing out its eyes hardened and it raised the hammer with grim determination. Not the mindless bloodlust most demons showed, but then again eredar were more intelligent than most.

Still, intelligent or not a purple tentacle warhammer isn't the best tool for blocking a shadowbolt. The small black globe darted around the hammer's handle, reversed direction, and surged directly through the open visor of the eredar's helm. The result wasn't pretty.

Behind him he heard the clash of weapons and screams as his blood elves hit the eredar's hastily erected second line of defense. Louder than that was another _crack_ as the bridge fell away completely and the main structure of the keep rose away to safety. "Darkness beneath," he snarled. To make matters even better, the large structure in the middle of the settlement was spitting out fully armed and armored eredar, all of whom were charging in his direction. At least none seemed to have noticed him personally yet, all their attention on the fighting at the perimeter. On a whim he ducked into the dwelling his recently deceased opponent had come from, and got his first genuine shock.

In a surprisingly comfortable room he would have identified as a kitchen in a human house, cowering against a surprisingly sophisticated stove, was the first female eredar he'd ever seen. At least he assumed it was female, considering it was much smaller than the one he'd killed outside, and...had female attributes. What was more, the blue demon was obviously using her own body to shield a child eredar behind her.

"What is this?" he demanded. Much as he knew about demons, it had never occurred to him that they could have children. Or that they'd be willing to sacrifice their own lives to protect them.

To his surprise the female eredar responded. "Human?" she said. Her voice didn't sound in the least demonic. While it had a strange rolling lilt to it, it almost sounded pleasant. Aside from the terror, of course. "Khadgar noit Vindicati? A'dal kai kristor!"

With a snap he came to his senses. Male, female, child or twisted beast, a demon was a demon, and the last thing he needed was to hesitate because it had breasts and was protecting its young one. "Du mikshak uk glorit," he snarled in demonic. _Answer my questions_.

At the sound of demonic the female wailed and, surprisingly, covered her child's ears. Nex would have spent longer trying to figure out what the hell was going on with these demons if one of the male eredar wielding a greatsword hadn't burst through the door behind him and tried to chop him in two.

He slipped to the side, drawing his Blinkstrike and slamming it into the creature's elbow as the sword clanged against the stony floor. The demon bellowed and dropped his weapon, twisting both hands around to grip at Nex's neck. It then bellowed again as its hands caught fire when Nex immolated himself.

Unreasoning terror suddenly swept over Nex, and ignoring the female, the child, and the injured male he shoved past the male and out the door and fled down the street. Unable to control his terror, he ducked down an alleyway and cowered in a huddle behind some square receptacles. It took a few more seconds after that, but he finally seized control of his mind back and pushed to his feet with a snarl. "Demons don't fear me, they _fear_ me."

He ran down the alley and out into the street, skidding to a stop when he saw the eredar he'd wounded kneeling over the eredar he'd killed. Tears were leaking down the creature's face, and his hands glowed as he tried to seal his dead comrade's wounds.

That was even less demonic than a child eredar, and the logic finally managed to convince his hate-crazed mind that evidence was quickly stacking up to these creatures _not_ being demons. That didn't mean they weren't enemies, but for the moment it would be better if he backed off until he knew what the hell was going on. So he slipped back down the alleyway, slinking like a thief towards the fighting at the perimeter.

Because the two things he _was_ sure of were that Stormrage had told him the keep was a demon stronghold, and these creatures that looked like eredar were wielding the Light.

. . . . .

_Them or us_, Saire told herself as she hurled a fireball at another crude structure, while from the one she'd just set aflame a female ran screaming with a child clutched in her arms. It still haunted her to hear the screams, but there was no choice.

Tempest Keep was their _future_. And these draenei were servants of the Light. Once they learned that the blood elves followed Illidan, a demon, they would be their grimmest foes. Velansar had driven that assurance home whenever she'd tried to raise a protest.

Still, she felt sick as she saw one of the Spell Breakers burst into a rabble of draenei and begin laying about him with his warglaive. His "enemies" were mostly female, few of which held any weapon more dangerous than a chunk of stone.

The children would survive, at least, and the draenei that didn't fight back. Velansar had promised them that much. So she hurled her fireballs at any structure that wasn't stone, setting the settlement ablaze and further adding to the chaos as her people fought their way ever deeper. With draenei hostages they could do something about Tempest Keep, even if it remained out of reach. The draenei were honorable, and they wouldn't leave innocents behind to be slaughtered. An opening would present itself.

Lokiv abruptly appeared in the center of the conflict, and his magically amplified voice boomed out over the fighting. "Elves fall back!" he roared. "Cease fighting and immediately disengage! These creatures aren't demons!"

Atop his hawkstrider Velansar raised his warglaive. "Belay that, elves! Press these creatures until they have no recourse but to surrender."

The Spell Breaker captain lifted his warglaive and urged his mount forward to strike down a fleeing draenei, and Lokiv was abruptly there, appearing in midair in a flying tackle to throw the elf off his hawkstrider. Lokiv rose into the air in levitation, face red with rage. "The next elf that strikes one of these creatures down dies by my hand!" he bellowed.

Saire gasped in shock, and around her the archers and her apprentices began murmuring in startled anger. Velansar lay on the ground, face livid with rage, but finally he stood. "Fall back!" he yelled reluctantly.

The retreat was not difficult, for most of the draenei were more worried about tending to their wounded and fallen than pursuing vengeance. For the moment. But glad as Saire was to see the slaughter of helpless refugees ended, she was worried that Lokiv had left them with enemies at their back. Before the attack was the time to think about morals, not midway through the slaughter.

But what was she saying? She could still hear the children screaming in pain and fear. That wasn't what her people were about. Not even to save their race, it wasn't what they were about.

. . . . .

Nex stalked along behind the elves, physically herding them back to their campsite five miles away and ensuring that none thought to turn back. Redcrest rode at the head of their forces, back stiff, and never once turned to look back and see if his people were following or being attacked.

Near the back of the line, Nova and a few of his men were manhandling one of the blue creatures along, and Nex swore. "Disparate false gods, Nova, again?"

His bodyguard scowled back. "You want prisoners, right? I made sure this one was a leader when I took him. He was shouting out orders."

Nex sighed and shook his head, turning to look back at the devastation his people had caused. Likely there hadn't been enough time for the blood elves to slaughter more than a few dozen of the creatures and there'd been hundreds. Still, the sight of the female huddling protectively over her child refused to leave his mind, and he felt himself growing angrier and angrier.

At the camp Redcrest and the other officers were waiting, faces dark with anger. "Dies by your hand?" the Spell Breaker repeated dangerously.

Nex fingered his Blinkstrike, glaring back. "You weren't surprised when I informed you the creatures weren't demons. You also made it clear you intended to force their surrender. Demons don't surrender. Not ever."

Redcrest sneered at him. "I was never stupid enough to believe we were fighting demons, human. Your master may have told you we were, but my master trusted me enough to present the situation clearly and leave it to me to see it done."

"See what done, slaughtering innocent women and children while our prize slips away?"

"Exactly! The draenei on those floating structures left their loved ones behind. If we'd captured them we could have threatened to execute them, luring Tempest Keep back into our hands."

Draenei. Of course. Nex had been expecting creatures similar to the Broken he'd seen, but of course the demonic corruption the Broken had suffered would significantly alter their appearance. He would have seen the truth sooner if the blue bastards hadn't looked so much like eredar.

"You're in contact with Sunstrider," he said. "What else do you know? Have their forces taken the Black Temple yet?"

Redcrest laughed mockingly. "Why don't you ask your master, human? You always seem to know everything and you're always in total control. You threaten to beat and murder your own soldiers if you aren't obeyed, but you turn squeamish at the thought of necessary slaughter. Where were your lofty morals when you eliminated that Broken tribe a few weeks ago?"

Nex fought to suppress his rage. "Watch your tone, Spell Breaker."

"Or what, you'll threaten to kill me some more?" Redcrest spit in his direction. "We have a mission to accomplish, and you're weak, human. If you can't lead I will."

His Blinkstrike was in his hand, and using it to cut the bastard elf down was a temptation nearly as seductive as magic addiction. But he controlled himself, barely. Tensions were too high, and if he acted against Redcrest now he likely _would_ be forced to fight the blood elves.

Instead he put the dagger away and turned to Nova. "Put the prisoner in a dark tent. I'll want to interrogate him. Montfere, see my tent erected." With that he turned and stalked from camp.

. . . . .

Saire watched the human depart, glad he hadn't attacked. In the rage he and Velansar were both in, the most likely outcome of such a thing would have been open conflict resulting in dozens dead. And no guarantee that one of those dozens would have been the human.

She had never seen Lokiv so openly angry. Was he truly so concerned over the lives of creatures that weren't even of his own race? What did he care?

Though she hated him still for ordering her beaten, she couldn't leave such curiosity unaddressed, so she followed the human out of camp.

He sat on a high ridge overlooking the area, staring down at the draenei camp at the edge of the continent. Tempest Keep drifted a mile farther out over the abyss, showing no signs of coming closer, and the draenei in camp had organized a strong perimeter and were putting up barricades to defend against further attacks. With their number advantages they would be a difficult nut to crack; Lokiv had most likely just destroyed their chances of taking the camp without massive loss of life.

Surprisingly enough, she was still glad of the way things had turned out.

"I'm glad you turned us back," she said as she moved to stand by his side. "The draenei in that camp were innocent, and we were attacking them unprovoked."

Lokiv turned to stare at her, pinpoints of flame burning in the endless black wells of his eyes. "You knew they were draenei. You knew they weren't demons, even before the attack began. And yet you didn't tell me."

"Velansar seemed to feel that your only purpose was to take out the naaru residing in Tempest Keep. If Illidan didn't tell you the truth, he thought it unwise to do so himself."

The human's nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath. "A naaru. Of course. Why would I still assume it was a demon lord after fighting servants of the Light protecting the structure. I had supposed that part was a lie. So not only do we slaughter innocents, but we imprison and torture a god-being of the Light who stands in direct opposition to the Burning Legion." Lokiv's hands clenched and unclenched. "I sold my morals for power, but my enemy has always been the Burning Legion. What's your excuse, elf? I thought you people worshipped the Light."

The words struck her like a blow. In the immediacy of magic addiction and the knowledge that the draenei must die in order for the blood elves to have a place in Outland, she hadn't considered that aspect of it. "I. I could have wished for another alternative."

He spat off the edge of the cliff. "There's for your alternative. For all your lofty speech and cultured bearing you elves are no better than demons."

Saire stiffened her back, rage suddenly washing over her. "Us? _Us_, human? You're the monster who serves a demon. You're the one leading us in these infamies."

Lokiv whirled and caught her throat, and she felt a thrill of fear. "I never wanted to kill these creatures," he screamed in her face, rage twisting his normally impassive features into a hideous mask. "I've only ever wanted to kill demons!"

In spite of her terror she couldn't help but laugh in his face. "Kill demons? You left a wake of death and destruction behind you. The night elves, the fel orcs, the Broken draenei, and now the draenei. For someone who "wants to kill demons" you've killed everything but!"

If his words hit her hard, her words struck him with equal intensity. He released her, stumbling back a few steps. "I've only ever wanted to fight the Burning Legion. To die fighting them, preferably. I never killed anyone unless they forced the necessity on me. Even those who deserve to die, I try to preserve. Puros hunted me for months, fought me even when I offered to let him live. He _forced_ me to kill him!"

Saire laughed again. "Puros Lightfinder, paladin of the Order of Turalyon. He, too, could have been an ally against the Burning Legion. You try to take the moral high ground, human? You, Nex-thanarak, who robbed a magetower and murdered an innocent mage. Who slaughtered an entire group full of paladins sent to chase you. Who serve a demon. What do you know of morals?"

His face fell back into the impassive mask. "So, you know who I am. Stormrage feared that if the blood elf mages learned my identity they'd try to kill me, even if my crimes were against my own kind."

Saire suddenly felt disgusted with herself. She'd just returned from aiding in the murder of dozens of innocents, and she was condemning the human? She was every bit as much a damned soul as he. "Kill you, human? Why would we kill you when our purposes are now aligned?" She spat at his feet and turned away.

Back at camp Hiezal caught at her arm and hustled her into his tent. "Why did you go after him?" her lover demanded. "The camp is on the verge of riot, and you'd been doing such a good job of showing everyone that you had no connection to him after he ordered you beaten. Coming into my tent and avoiding his almost did the job by itself. But now? Now everyone sees you chasing after him like a love-wet girl, and suddenly your loyalties are in question again."

"Loyalties?" Saire demanded back. "Why must it all be fighting, even among ourselves? Why is there never any peace? Why are both sides always in the wrong? Honor and decency and virtue are ideals we all love to toss about, heralded as the foundation stones of the glory of war, but I see nothing virtuous about anything we do."

Hiezal laughed shortly, but then his expression changed. "You're right. We should make love, not war." He moved forward and slipped an arm around her waist, kissing her neck. He had blood on his clothes, and the sight turned her stomach, wondering what innocent veins it had spilled from.

She shook her head and pulled away. "Not now, Hiezal. I just want to sleep."


	15. Desperate Measures

Chapter Fourteen

Desperate Measures

"Stormrage," Nex snarled, gripping the Illidari stone tightly and sending through it. "Stormrage! I will speak with you!"

For a long moment there was no answer to his attempts, and then he received a weak reply, directly in his thoughts. "You pick about the worst time to contact me. Wait a few days before attempting to do so again."

The presence in his mind vanished, and Nex cursed. Then he gripped the stone tighter and forced his will into it. No link was purely one-sided, even one that left him so far in his master's control. He could press through that link, demanding his master's attention. And he did.

Finally Stormrage's image flickered over the cliff, dimmer than he'd seen it on previous occasions. His master looked profoundly weary. And more than a little angry. "You continue to press for audience, Nothing? It's been not days since I defeated a powerful demon lord in single combat, and recuperation is much more demanding when you call upon such powers as I can bring to bear. Be brief and to the point, and hope your need is worth the cost I pay for this interview."

"So you have taken Black Temple and defeated Magtheridon." Nex laughed sharply. "I suppose that means the demonic threat on Outland is done with."

"Pockets remain, but they swiftly fall under my control. I was not jesting when I told you to get to the point. I have neither the energy nor the patience for pleasantries."

"It was no pleasantry, but a thinly veiled accusation. I was given faulty information."

The image flickered slightly, Stormrage's face assuming an ugly expression of rage. "I gave you no faulty information."

"Did you not? A demonic keep, lightly guarded by demons and controlled by a minor demon lord, you told me. Instead I find a naaru construct, peopled by draenei refugees, and administered to by a naaru. In what way haven't you given me faulty information?"

"The keep was constructed with eredar technology and is manned by eredar, so in those I spoke correct. The naaru being a demon lord might have been a slight obfuscation of the facts."

"Don't patronize me, Stormrage, those were no eredar. They possessed not a trace of demonic corruption, and furthermore wielded the Light. Unless you're suggesting that demons can be cured of their corruption?"

"Don't be absurd. You and I both know that is impossible." Stormrage pressed a hand to his blindfold in a surprisingly human gesture of weariness. "Thousands of years ago the eredar were recruited to the Burning Legion. At the time they were led by three great leaders: Archimonde, Kil'jaeden, and Velen. When Sargeras discovered their homeworld of Argus he offered these leaders power in return for their servitude. To essentially sell their people into slavery to the Legion so those three leaders might profit. Archimonde and Kil'jaeden had no notion of the trap they were walking their people into when they accepted the Dark Titan's offer. Much the way the Burning Legion later enslaved the orcs through their leader Ner'zhul."

"The third leader, Velen, was certain his brethren were making a terrible mistake, but he saw no way out of this trap. The other eredar were set to wipe out him and his followers when the naaru arrived and offered them rescue. Unlike current times, back then the naaru actually took a hand in aiding mortal races against the Legion, if only to aid them in fleeing. Velen and his people fled Argus and renamed themselves the draenei, the Exiled Ones. So they are eredar, and eredar are demons."

"But draenei aren't demons. You make a tenuous logical leap."

"What of it? Did you capture the keep."

"No, and I never shall. Always you tease me with promises of fighting the Burning Legion, and always I'm sent to betray and slaughter innocents in your name. I've had done with it. No draenei will fall by my hand or the hands of my elves. I certainly won't aid you in capturing a naaru and stealing its energies for the blood elves to feed their addiction upon. That race is one of the only things standing between the Legion and total victory."

Stormrage threw back his head and laughed. "The naaru, saving us from the demons?" he asked mockingly. "Whatever you've been told of that race is false to the point of absurdity. The naaru refuse to destroy the Legion and thereby become destructors themselves. The only aid they provide is to come to worlds ravaged by the demons and left barren and seek to help the survivors in rebuilding. They don't even aid races in fleeing anymore." He laughed again. "No, expect no true aid from the naaru. They will look on while the Great Dark Beyond itself falls to ruin and _tsk _in displeasure. The most effort they make is to contain evil, and containment is always doomed to fail. They wouldn't swat a fly to save their own lives, which is why capturing one is so easy. Easy enough that even you could manage it, human, provided you weren't foolish enough to be captured by them instead."

Nex shook his head with a snarl. Though it had been several hours since the raid, he had but to imagine that female huddling protectively over her child, the way his mother had never seen fit to do for him, and his rage reignited. "I'll not capture the naaru, and I'll not lead my men against the draenei. I do not promise this idly, Stormrage."

Stormrage's face turned ugly in a scowl once more. "Don't be a fool, human. The servants of the so-called Light are uncompromising. You know this better than any. When the draenei learn that the elves and naga serve a demon they will become our most violent foes. They will force us to kill them, as your paladin pursuer forced you to kill him."

Nex stiffened. "What do you know of that?" he demanded.

Stormrage ignored the question. "And what then, human? While the draenei fight us tooth and nail both sides will be weakened, and the Burning Legion will swoop in and retake Outland. We will fail, all of us, and pay the ultimate price. The only way to protect Outland now is to squash the fools totally while they yet remain weak and unaware of their danger."

Nex straightened to perfect attention, keeping his face impassive. "I did not promise idly, Stormrage," he repeated.

"You're a fool if you remain as uncompromising as the draenei themselves. Without your aid your people will die. And not just your people. If you refuse to obey my command I will strip authority from you and place Redcrest in charge of the expedition. I will then order him to slaughter every single draenei down to the last babe in arms and he will do it, because Redcrest has the soul of a rabid dog."

Nex laughed. "I see. I am to be taken hostage by my morals."

"Absolutely, now that I see that you have them. Incidentally I will also kill you outright if you continue to balk. The choice is yours, human: acquiesce and take my keep, doing everything in your power to prevent the loss of lives on both sides, or refuse and die, knowing that innocents will be slaughtered for your sins."

Nex wanted to refuse outright again, but common sense prevailed. The dead could do no good in the world. Unless of course they became undead, but that was beside the point. "I must think on this."

"Do not think too long. If I learn that your hesitation cost us a vital opportunity your punishment will be swift and severe." Without another word Stormrage's wavering image vanished.

. . . . .

"I was wrong about Lokiv," Theril said grimly. "I thought he knew that necessity must outweigh morality. All my conversations with him, thinking his thoughts ran deep, when I was merely reflecting my own insights from a shallow cave. I foolishly attributed my own wisdom to the boy. And boy he is, blind and idealistic behind his cold mask."

The blood elf officers had gathered in her father's tent. Since Blade's Edge they seemed to do so more and more often, sometimes strategizing, but often simply socializing. She had pushed her way into these meetings through some hostility at first, but now she was accepted for the most part. Hiezal, too, when he bothered to attend.

"He's like a child playing with blocks, but those blocks are the power to end mens' lives," Velansar agreed. "He sways to whatever whim catches his attention at the moment. How Illidan could have such a one for a servant is beyond me. He must be a constant vexation, and an inconstant ally."

"I could have killed him that first day," Hiezal offered, taking a swig of brandy from his seemingly bottomless cache. His words were met with disdain bordering on outright hostility.

Hardal shook his head. "He's done all right up til now, but with his stance on these draenei we might have conflicts with his leadership in the future. It might be time to start considering wresting that mantle from his shoulders."

"I've held that opinion for a long time now," Velansar muttered. "Whatever the human wishes, we _must_ take Tempest Keep."

Her father was watching Velansar closely. "Yes, you have indeed taken that position. And yet in spite of all the slights and insults, and now this outright attack on you, you've taken no action against the human."

The Spell Breaker scowled. "Prince Kael'thas was specific in that regard. I was told that, if possible, I should pretend to go along with the human's orders and thus keep his suspicions allayed. The naaru in Tempest Keep is powerful, and Lokiv is the only one among us capable of outright defeating it."

"The men are getting sick of him," Hardal said, in the amiable tone of one reporting on the weather. "It might be that we'll need to find a way to wrest leadership from his hands in a way that still keeps him our ally, at least until he can do the job he came here to do."

Saire stirred from her spot sitting cross-legged on the rug in one corner. "Our purpose here is more important than petty pride," she said, drawing surprised glances her way. She didn't often speak in these meetings. "I know that better than any of you. If appeasing Lokiv is the best way to see Tempest Keep taken, we must do it."

"You're all too eager to "appease" him," Velansar shot back spitefully.

"Yes she is, but she has a point," Theril answered. "For now, perhaps we must remain at least nominally under his control. As long as his orders aren't too outrageous there's no reason not to carry them out."

_Thank you for your support, father,_ Saire thought bitterly. Theril seemed to have forgotten that _he_ was the reason she was hated in camp, viewed as the human's slam toy. And now, after putting her in this awkward position, he questioned her loyalty?

She was going to have words with him over this.

. . . . .

His rage was gone, far slower and more reluctantly than it had come. The day had gone as well, and the night was fast fading, but it had been long hours since he'd moved, an eternity he'd sat atop the ridge staring at the draenei in the distance. The longer he sat, mind blank in spite of the frustration and anger battering at the cap he placed over his emotions, the more that hollow area inside him filled by the Illidari stone's power beckoned.

Power. More than he'd ever had, tapped directly from Stormrage's vast reserves. Odd that he could do more than he ever could before, and yet in reality he was perfectly powerless, slave to the whims of a creature that could snuff out his life in an instant.

It was exhilarating in a way. Like an amputated limb with the phantom sensations remaining, teasing and tickling though there was no itch to scratch. Any time he wanted he could be dead by someone else's hand. But more and more he realized he didn't want it so much as he pretended to.

And now, in the midst of realizing his life had purpose to temper the pain, he was on the verge of losing it all.

"Damn," he whispered, staring out at the draenei. They must mourn within that barricaded camp. Dozens of their people had died, all innocent. Here on the edge of the world, where nothing lived, an enemy had found them. What irony was it that war found those who did not seek it, no matter how they tried to hide? Endless turmoil, no matter how peaceable and friendly they tried to be. And Stormrage wanted him to wage that war against the innocents.

There was no room for rationalization; if he obeyed his master, he would be totally and wholly in the wrong. No claim of self-defense, no delusions of a higher purpose or a better end. Only outright slaughter of innocents so their treasures could be stolen and used to fight Stormrage's war.

Yet for all of that there was wisdom in Stormrage's words, perhaps more wisdom than the demonic night elf knew. Nex knew well how uncompromising servants of the Light could be; if he wanted to save creatures that did not wish to be saved he would have to play both sides well.

With a slow nod he came to his feet, staring at the camp below and at the floating fortress hovering far out of reach. Yes, he would lead the attack. Just not for the reasons Stormrage thought. He didn't fear losing command, and he didn't care about punishment.

What he cared about were those small dark eyes staring up at him in terror, while the mother wept in grief and fear even as she huddled over her child, ready to die to buy the tiny innocent creature an instant more to live. What he cared about was the Light-wielding paladin kneeling over his companion, weeping as he struggled to save a life already lost. A life, like too many others, taken by Nex's hand.

He was tired of his service to Stormrage forcing him to harm the innocent. He was tired of slaying everything _but _the demons Stormrage had promised him. It was about time he used his servitude to save lives, rather than take them.

Decided, Nex turned back to camp. If the naaru were good for nothing but aiding their servants in fleeing from danger then he would force that choice upon them. The Exiled Ones would remain exiles, searching for another world to call their home.

But they would live.

. . . . .

"STORM!

Black clouds fill the sky.

EARTH!

I hear my battle cry.

FIRE!

Thunder will bring forth...

DEATH!

From the power of the Horde!"

Nova sat against a rock not far from the tent of thick canvas where the draenei prisoner had been placed bound. Nex had no notion of the song he was singing, but the elf was singing it very enthusiastically and with little actual skill.

He was singing with his eyes closed.

"Far Seer to the Warsong Clan,

To no man will I kneel.

Feel the power and the energy,

Born of black blood, honor, and steel.

I feel the fire burning-"

"How fares our prisoner, Nova?" Nex asked, interrupting the oaf.

Nova lurched in surprise then clambered to his feet, looking embarrassed. "Something off about him. He could barely walk and my boys had to practically carry him here. I could swear I barely put scratches on him, but he was panting like a bellows."

"He's bound, his head covered with cloth?" The elf nodded. Nex started for the tent, then paused and turned back. "What was that song?"

Nova reddened further. "When the mages came back from Kalimdor under Lady Jaina's leadership, they had a few "allies" with them. Apparently some orcs, tauren, and trolls under Thrall's leadership had been battling alongside the human forces at the front lines, and in the chaos of Lady Jaina's retreat via portal some of them escaped as well. So there they were in Dalaran. Not exactly prisoners, not exactly friends, in constant danger of being imprisoned or worse by people who despised them, they did the only thing they could under the circumstances."

Nova went quiet for a dramatically long period of time, and Nex sighed in annoyance. "Which was?"

"Start a band," Nova replied promptly, beaming. "The Tauren Chieftains. Surprisingly popular in Dalaran, considering the brutish nature of its musicians. They came touring through Corona's Blaze on their way to Silvermoon and I got to hear them perform live."

"As opposed to what, dead?"

Nova laughed. "Funny you should say that, since the band has an undead guitar player. I don't know how they get away with it, it's awesome!"

"Yeah, really sorry I asked." Nex turned and ducked into the prisoner's tent. Behind him Nova started singing again.

. . . . .

The draenei was aware of him.

Nex was impressed. Few possessed the acute awareness necessary to detect a person who was making no sound in a pitch black tent. Subconsciously people were capable of deducing astounding things from the slightest stimuli, what many called intuition. But few could be silent enough to listen to such minute promptings.

With his second sight he watched the creature lift its head. It didn't know where he was, but it knew he was there. "Do you wish for light?" Nex said in Common. He didn't expect comprehension, let alone an answer: his voice in the dark was the only effect he wanted.

But to his surprise he got both. The odd tentacled face turned blind eyes toward him. "From darkness we are born, enemy," the draenei said quietly. "For months it is our home. And when at last we are brought into the light there are few brave enough to open their eyes to it, wishing for the comfort of darkness, the memory of the womb. I cannot understand why so many fear it, when once it was so natural to us."

Nex paused, surprised. He hadn't expected the creature to speak the human tongue, and he had no idea how it had learned to do so. "An odd opinion for a paladin to hold."

"I'm no paladin, enemy. I worship the Light as my people do, but I do not see the darkness as evil, as some do. It is the beings that seek the darkness that are to be feared, not any lack of light." The odd, flat mouth opened into a smile. "I would say my current predicament makes a fine metaphor for that aphorism."

"Only if you share the darkness with such a creature." Nex threw open the tent flap, letting in the harsh bright light of Outland's sun. "It need not be so."

The draenei squinted against the harsh sunlight flooding into the small area. "Bringing a dark creature into the light does not change its nature."

"You say you're no paladin, but I've found that it is paladins who are quick to judge anyone opposed to them as creatures of darkness and evil."

The creature laughed, its beard tendrils swaying slightly. "Paladins are not unique in that regard. All who fight must battle their own conscience as much as their enemy. It is easier when you can identify the person you must kill as one who deserves it. There is nothing in this world more serious than the taking of a life. Even the most depraved and bloodthirsty souls go to that task viewing it as a serious thing."

"Demons view it as amusement."

"No. They simply take pleasure in it. But you rarely see even demons smiling while killing. The bloodlust consumes them with primal rage. It is why those who laugh in battle are frightening creatures, with madness in their hearts. Like the elf which caught me."

Nex blinked. Nova? Frightening? "Oh?"

"Yes. Beware those who smile when killing."

Interesting. He had completely dismissed the blood elf up to this point. And yet the man had a habit of capturing enemies. To subdue a fel orc was no mean task. It was something to consider in his future dealings with the man, that behind that oafish exterior a true threat lurked. "I'm not one to ignore advice, draenei. I am called Lokiv. How do you speak my tongue?"

The draenei closed his eyes, sudden weariness seeming to wash over him. Indeed, upon closer inspection with his second sight Nex was able to identify deeply rooted corruption within the creature. Nova's claim that the man hadn't the strength to walk unaided was, perhaps, not without merit. "I have been called Veilan by those I love. I speak your tongue because I am an ally to Khadgar and the remnants of his expedition. I should be an ally to you as well, human. Let me go, and make restitution for the innocents you slew."

So Khadgar lived. And he was aligned with these draenei and the naaru they served. It was a valuable tidbit of knowledge, though hardly relevant at the moment. "You should be, were I myself an ally to the Archmage. I have questions about Tempest Keep." Veilan stiffened and turned his head to face forward, eyes staring blankly at the wall. So he was going to play it that way. "It will be better for you, and for your people, if you cooperate. Only grief can come from your resistance."

Again no response. Nex unleashed shadow magic into the draenei's mind, seeking to control it and prise out the information he needed. To his surprise his attempt was completely rebuffed as his second sight was blinded by a sheath of Light protecting Veilan's thoughts.

Veilan must have felt the attempt, for he laughed. "You'll have to excuse me, I didn't understand your question or your need. My grasp of your language is not so great as it could be."

"It seems fine enough to me. Answer the question, blue eredar," the draenei flinched at being called that, "or I will be forced to use other methods. Ones more painful than polite discourse."

"What is pain?" the draenei asked, beard tentacles quivering with amusement. "The Light protects me from grief."

"The Light is notorious for abandoning its adherents to the mercies of those who would do them harm. One last warning, draenei, and then I will show you the meaning of pain."

The draenei spit. "Do your worst, human."

Nex shrugged and reached into a pocket of his cloak. "Very well." With exaggerated care he withdrew a small book, idly opening it and flipping to about the middle of it. In spite of his belligerence Veilan turned to watch. Finally, clearing his throat ostentatiously, Nex began to read. "Pain: a state of physical, emotional, or mental lack of well-being or physical, emotional, or mental uneasiness that ranges from mild discomfort or dull distress to acute often unbearable agony, may be generalized or localized, and is the consequence of being injured or hurt physically or mentally or of some derangement of or lack of equilibrium in the physical or mental functions (as through disease), and that usually produces a reaction of wanting to avoid, escape, or destroy the causative factor and its effects.

"Most scholars into the aggregate language known as "Common" agree that the word pain originates from the archaic high elf term "payeen", meaning "that which is broken". During the war between the high elves and the Amani trolls the humans of the nation of Arathor took the side of the elves, and began using the term in an idiom to describe the wounded, as in "narat payeen", "the broken ones." Nex paused and shot the draenei a look. "Your kind are no stranger to labeling your people "Broken", are you?" Veilan made no response save to press his lips together, and Nex continued. "The meaning of the term gradually evolved to its current definition. See also "agony, anguish, discomfort, distress-" Nex broke off, shutting the book and tucking it back into its pocket. "You get the idea."

The draenei was looking at him blankly. Nex smiled. "You said your grasp of Common was poor, and you asked what pain was. I decided it would be best you knew what you were getting into."

"I was speaking philosophically when I asked of pain," Veilan said, meeting and holding his gaze. "I'm well acquainted with the concept."

"All right, then." Nex drew his Blinkstrike. "Just making sure."

. . . . .

Hours later Nex was standing atop his ridge once more, wearied by the necessity of wresting information from the draenei. It had been a long few hours.

There was one important thing to remember in any interrogation: no matter what you did, you gave information to your interrogator. Lack of response was its own response, and nobody could keep their face perfectly smooth when confronted with surprises.

In his own way Veilan was good at keeping that information hidden, and it didn't help that his face and emotions were alien to Nex's experience. Rather than relaxing his facial features and making them the victim of any unexpected question, he'd kept his face locked in a stiff grimace that encompassed every muscle, and he'd never once opened his eyes. Nex had considered cutting the man's eyelids off, but going too far too fast in an interrogation was as big a mistake as being too lenient.

Besides, he was looking for simple, specific information, and in spite of himself Veilan had given it to him.

Stormrage had been correct when he'd promised that the draenei would be uncompromising enemies. Every response had made that clearer and clearer. The naaru they served wouldn't save them, but the fools would still fight to the death to uphold the ideals the naaru espoused. It became more and more obvious that although the naaru could not directly fight the Burning Legion for fear of becoming destroyers themselves, they weren't above using puppets to do their work for them.

So the draenei would be enemies, uncompromising. As he'd first suspected, the only way to save the innocents was to find a way to force them to flee. Now he just had to grill the hapless Veilan until the draenei gave him the information he needed to do just that.

Ironic, in a way, that he was trying so hard to save the draenei, and one of the ones responsible for protecting them was making it difficult for him to do just that. But he'd find a way. No fortress was unconquerable, no mind unbreakable, and not even the Light created a wall with no chinks. He'd get what he needed, he just had to keep pressing.

At the moment he came to that decision a humming like the breath of a titan filled his ears, and he turned to see Tempest Keep and its satellites rapidly approaching the continent. Nex tapped his reserves, preparing defensive spells, even as he heard shouts from the scouts watching in the camp behind him. Elves rushed from their tents clutching weapons, Redcrest roaring orders, preparing the camp's defense.

But the floating constructs didn't come for his blood elves. They took up carefully planned positions around the refugee camp, and ropes and ladders were dropped from above. Draenei refugees began climbing to safety in an orderly retreat, valuables and the elderly and sickly being lifted up in baskets. It was surprisingly swift and well organized.

"Charge!" Redcrest shouted. "Take the keep before it can flee out of our grasp once more!" Below the blood elves streamed towards the refugee camp, but Nex didn't move from his spot on the ridge. It took only a moment's calculations to see that Redcrest's efforts were futile; by the time the blood elves reached the barricades the draenei would be evacuated, Tempest Keep and its satellites once more rising up and out of their grasp.

Nex smiled slowly.

Perhaps he wouldn't have to wage this war after all. A pity, since he'd just decided he wanted to.

Directly underneath the ridge he stood upon the blood elves were slowing, coming to the same realization. At their head Redcrest was wheeling his hawkstrider in circles, face livid. "Damnit!" the Spell Breaker roared. In the distance the last of the draenei finished evacuating, and the entire keep floated slowly out of range, then began drifting north along the edge of the continent, away from them. "Shit. God damnit. Fuck. Fuck!" Redcrest halted his skittering hawkstrider with a savage kick and pointed a shaking finger at the milling army. "Pack up, damn you all! We're going to follow the keep. They have to come to ground at some point. Dor'ane! Keep your scouts ahead, make sure we know where that thing is going, but don't give them a hint we're following. Maybe if we make them think they've outrun us they'll move back inland."

Nex highly doubted that. It was possible, of course, but he was becoming more and more certain they'd failed. And he couldn't be more delighted.

As if Redcrest sensed his inner satisfaction the blood elf turned to look up at him, then spat off to the side. "This travesty is your doing, human. Your tender heart just cost us Tempest Keep."

"We'll see. You have the right idea about following out of sight. We might get lucky."

The Spell Breaker graced him with a rude gesture, then began savagely herding the soldiers back to camp, where he oversaw the packing with more frantic cursing than usual.

. . . . .

Their journey had had its share of annoyances, but few could match the sheer frustration of following a drifting keep which moved at a snail's pace and remained constantly far out of reach over the Twisting Nether. They moved less than ten miles a day in pursuit of the damn thing, and it had shown not the slightest sign of moving closer to the continent and within their reach. Over the last few days their orderly ranks had dissolved thanks to the slow pace, elves stopping when they pleased and then catching up, in no hurry. Discipline was starting to wear thin, and Velansar was doing little to enforce it at the moment.

A movement to the south and east of their meandering group caught her eye. There, a perfect example. She recognized Nothlais Skygaze vaulting over a jagged ridge from the direction of the continent's edge and making his way nonchalantly back towards them. Without an ounce of shame or chagrin he slipped back amidst a cluster of swordsmen.

Saire pretended not to notice the young elf, and none of the others condescended to give him as much as a second glance, if they gave him a first. It had become common practice to "forage for mana" ever since stepping foot on this continent, so much closer to the Twisting Nether than any other part of outland. Elves would quietly break ranks to make the short trip to the edge of the continent, where mana wyrms and aether rays frolicked, ripe for the plucking. Saire had gone "foraging" a few times herself, feeding her addiction to magic.

Before their failed raid on Tempest Keep they had at least been subtle about the practice, but afterwards her people openly broke away to feed their addiction. After Jassal Daybright, one of the scouts, had vanished on one such disappearance two days ago the practice had again become officially frowned on by the officers. But blood elves kept breaking ranks, even officers themselves, to make the trip to where their thirst for mana could be sated. And no one deigned to notice.

She walked for a few minutes more, and then a disturbance among the swordsmen Nothlais had rejoined turned her attention back that way. Other elves, in no hurry to follow their slow target, also stopped to look on. It was Nothlais himself at the center of the fracas, along with a friend of his, Darvans Leafbreeze.

"It's so easy for you, isn't it?" Nothlais accused. "Skip over to the abyss and lure yourself a nice fat mana wyrm. I may be twice the swordsman you are, but by the Sunwell I never claimed to be a mage."

Darvans sounded amused. "So you failed to catch one, butterfingers?"

"Damn your smirks and damn you, Leafbreeze! If you've got so much mana you're not using why don't you give me some." Nothlais leaped forward, hands outstretched.

The other elf sounded far less amused now. "Hey, wait a second. Just what the hell do you think you're-" he cut off in a sharp, agonized scream, and the area around the two bickering elves rapidly cleared, her fellow soldiers staring at the scene in sickened horror.

Nothlais, face twisted in an expression that perfectly mirrored the ugliness of her own feelings of addiction when it was at its worst, had tackled Darvans to the ground and was tapping him directly, sucking not only the mana but the life force from his friend. With a horrified cry Saire formed a counterspell, cutting off the deadly assault. Moments later two of the onlooking elves pried Nothlais off his victim and pinned him to the ground. The addiction-crazed elf struggled frantically, spitting out a bloody mess that Saire realized only after a moment's inspection was the tip of his tongue, bitten off in his frenzy. He tried to drain the two elves pinning him, and one responded by unleashing his mana reserves in a torrent of arcane energy, stunning both of the others.

A flicker of motion turned her towards the front of the "lines", where Lokiv had appeared out of nowhere, Blinking using that artifact Saire still hadn't been able to identify. He was rushing towards the conflict, dark energy flowing around him and making shadows visibly writhe in the surrounding air.

But before he could arrive Nothlais screamed a deep, soul-wrenching cry of anguish, and when she turned back to him she saw his very appearance changing as unchecked magic addiction ravaged his physical form. His skin grew paler, his eyes bulged and began glowing a revolting blue, his white-gold hair began falling out in clumps. And, when with newfound strength he threw off his subduers and scrambled onto his hands and feet, she saw eerie growths on his back, glowing with that same nauseating blue light.

She couldn't believe it. Never before had she witnessed an elf's transformation to Wretched. It had happened so _fast_. It could happen to her, if she succumbed to the thirst within her for even a moment. She'd never before come to terms with just how close she stood to the precipice of disaster, with only one misstep spelling the end.

The Wretched turned on Darvans once more, hands clutching at his throat as he once again began tapping the helpless elf's mana and life force. The two elves who'd struggled in vain to subdue the creature had fallen back, horror and disgust twisting their features. Then Lokiv swooped in and slammed the absurdly large pommel of his dagger into the back of the Wretched's head, knocking it out cold. The human straightened, the fel energy he'd been gathering slipping away unused. Deep within the black wells of his eyes tiny points of fire glowed.

She'd rarely seen him show emotion, and rarely so strong as the rage that twisted his features. "You damn blood elves and your pride," he said quietly, but the words carried to the far edges of the gathering crowd. "If an enemy stabbed you through the chest, would you keep it hidden and hope it went away? For good or ill, magic addiction is a part of you now. _None_ of you are strong enough to hold it at bay on your own." Those dark eyes roved the crowd, seeming to pin each and every elf they fell upon. The elves were not happy about his words, that was obvious, but none so much as murmured in anger as he continued. "If you fear you cannot control your addiction, go to your officers immediately for help. I won't lose another man to this, when it can be prevented." Nobody said anything, and gazes began dropping, avoiding that angry stare.

Lokiv turned back to the Wretched that had once been Nothlais. "Show this creature mercy and end its misery," he said coldly.

Saire gasped in surprise and shock, and she wasn't alone. "There's no need to kill him," she protested. "He was once our friend, our companion."

Those eyes turned to pierce her. "Was, mage. If we leave him behind he will follow, and sneak into camp in the night and try to finish what he started here. If we bring him along we'll be forced to constantly guard him. And to what end? Your Prince Sunstrider came to my master for a cure, and learned that the only cure is prevention, to feed the addiction and hold it at bay. End this Wretched's suffering, or I will."

Velansar had moved to kneel by the unconscious Wretched, but now he stood. "Your command grows tiresome, human. What right do you have to sentence this man to death?"

Lokiv's eyes pinned Velansar, face expressionlessly. "Do you disagree with me out of principle, Redcrest, or can you truly think of a reason to spare this miserable creature's life?"

Velansar scowled for a moment, but finally looked away. "Then do it yourself, human. Your kind loves to kill, and I'm sure this w-"

A roar of flame sent the Spell Breaker leaping backwards with a curse. Fire struck Nothlais and licked around him, eagerly consuming the Wretched's skin. Within that inferno Nothlais began to twitch and shriek, and then his cries were permanently stilled as the flames burned hotter, consuming flesh and blackening bone until little remained. Saire turned with shock to where the flames had originated.

Theril straightened, face lined with strain and grief. "The human is right, though I would expect none of you to admit it. If I ever succumb to my addiction and meet this fate I would hope to be shown the same mercy. But I will not, if it can be avoided. What is pride before survival? Follow your orders, and come to your officers for aid if you feel you can control your addiction no longer."

"Let's march." Lokiv said, turning away. "We have ground to cover before night fall."

. . . . .

The lines were in shambles, morale at the lowest he'd ever seen it, discipline all but nonexistent, and more than a few elves were retching by the wayside. They didn't want his help, that much was certain, but he was going to give it to them anyways.

Nex moved away from the group, concentrating upon the task ahead. He found a nice secluded spot and knelt, gathering up a few loose stones, round as if they'd once been smoothed by water. Tapping his reserves, he began the lengthy and tiring process of infusing them with his power.

Felstones were often erroneously called healthstones by those who didn't wield fel magics. And indeed, when those who couldn't wield fel magic consumed a felstone it did speed the body's regeneration of wounds and injuries. But that application paled in usefulness compared to draining the energy and making use of it. None but warlocks could use them for that purpose, of course, and even then it took training, as it did to tap any source of magic.

Once he'd made a dozen or so he returned to the staggered line of ambling elves and located Redcrest, riding his hawkstrider near the front while his other Spell Breakers patrolled front to back along the sides. "Come away a moment, Redcrest. I'd like a word."

The elf hesitated, then guided his hawkstrider away from the army to where Nex stood, a short distance away from the curious elves. "What is it?" the elf demanded. He sounded even angrier than usual, probably about being ordered to kill Skygaze.

Nex produced the bag of felstones. "These are mana reservoirs. If one of the men comes to you for help in controlling their addiction give them one to consume."

The Spell Breaker took the bag reluctantly, opening it and peering inside with a lip curled in distaste. "Created using corrupt energies, I see." He closed the bag and offered it back. "Keep your warlock candy, human. However much an elf might fear becoming a Wretched, none will condescend to asking for aid. Certainly not from _you_."

Nex fought to control his anger. "Then watch your men closely for signs of strain. Give some of these to your officers and have them watch the men also. Have the men watch each other. I meant what I said, Redcrest, I won't lose another man to this! Not when it can be so easily prevented."

Redcrest hesitated, looking at his face, then he shrugged and tucked the bag of felstones away. "I'll see it done, sir," he said mockingly. He started to turn away.

"One more thing, Redcrest." The elf turned, eyebrow arched coldly. "If I find that you or one of your officers has consumed these stones needlessly, I'll punish you in a way that makes you wish you'd become a Wretched. Use the stones on any who you even suspect need them, but don't let me catch you or anyone else gobbling them up with no excuse but greed."

"No fear of that," Redcrest said with a sneer. "You may enjoy steeping yourself in demonic taint, but we elves set ourselves to a higher standard."

. . . . .

Seven days after Tempest Keep first began fleeing it finally stopped. Dor'ane insisted the draenei couldn't know they were being followed, though they might suspect it. Redcrest had seen to it that they set up camp far away and kept tabs on the keep, hoping it would finally return, but it remained far out of reach over the Twisting Nether as more days passed.

The blood elves were growing more and more antsy, and his attempts to interrogate the draenei were showing few results. It was time for him to press harder.

"I'm not afraid of pain," Veilan said as soon as Nex entered the tent. "Your attempts will earn you nothing."

Nex let the tent flap close behind him. "Pain comes to us all. I know that better than any. It takes a strong character indeed to endure it and remain unbroken."

The draenei eyed him closely. "And did it break you, human?"

"Perhaps. I no longer fear it." Nex drew his Blinkstrike, watching Veilan's face closely, but the draenei gave no outward sign of uneasiness or distress. He dropped the dagger to the ground and strode forward. "But pain is a blunt and inelegant tool. I have better at my disposal." His hand snapped out, catching the draenei's forehead plate and gripping it tightly. In spite of himself Veilan flinched.

The draenei's mental defenses had stood firm at his casual probe. It was time to dig more earnestly.

He had heard the eredar's mental defenses were all but impenetrable, their fortitude and stamina defeating even powerful, cleverly wielded probes. The draenei possessed a similar strength of thought. Unlike the eredar, however, the draenei radiated Light, rather than demonic corruption. It made delving into his mind most unpleasant.

But Nex persevered, pushing through astonishing defenses. The defenses didn't simply cave, as he was accustomed, but stubbornly persisted, so the effort of breaking them was more akin to besieging a castle than storming its walls. It took time, and it was painful, for the draenei as well as for him. By the time he began to make headway both of them were sweating profusely, and the draenei's face was a mask of determination and suppressed pain. "You will not break me," Veilan panted.

Nex finally pushed through the outward defenses, and found his progress foiled by inner defenses. Like a sheath of Light, the paladin's thoughts were veiled from his mind, and try as he might he only caught glimpses. There was no way he'd be able to get anything useful from that painful brilliance, and unlike the outer defenses these inner ones had no weakness he could see. No matter how he pushed at them, it was doubtful he'd ever break through, and he might damage himself more than his prisoner in attempting it.

Unless...although the creature's mind was mostly closed, there _were_ glimpses. They were accompanied by strong emotion, which the draenei fought with iron will to suppress. Nex experimentally took out a knife and slashed the creature across the forearm, a shallow, long cut. "I'm going to kill you now," he said. Pain danced across that sheath of Light, and with it a trace of fear and more than a little eagerness. One of the glimpses he saw was of a female draenei radiating love, a mate perhaps. Was it possible he was thinking of her as his death approached?

Interesting. "You murdered innocent orc children," he said by way of further testing, and as he'd hoped accompanying the flash of outrage on the draenei's face he caught a glimpse of a city on the brink of falling, some vile substance being launched within the walls by massive orcish catapults, and the screams of innocents below being consigned to a fate worse than death.

So, he could get glimpses, if he could manage to make the creature feel strong emotion and press him hard enough mentally at the same time. The problem was that strong emotion, like pain, tended to become numbed the more it was forced, so any valuable information he wanted he'd have to get quickly, while the creature could still feel anything but despair.

Nex stepped back and dropped onto his haunches, spreading out his hands in the universal gesture of nonaggression. As he did he tucked the knife back into his cloak and eased back the pressure he was exerting on the creature's mind, though he didn't withdraw. "I have questions for you. You may not believe this, but I'm going to learn everything I can about Tempest Keep from you, so that when next I attack it as few of your people die as possible."

The draenei spat. "If you truly cared for the lives of my people, you would not be attacking us in the first place."

Nex laughed harshly. "Ah, yes, the quintessential paladin response that everything must be either black or white, good or evil. Of course if a faction is good, they would not attack another faction that considers itself "good." Nex lost his smile and leaned in close to the creature's face, noting the way the squid-tentacle beard twitched in response. "Here's the truth, draenei. I have no desire to kill you or your people. But we _are_ going to take Tempest Keep, and I _am_ going to capture the naaru guarding it. If we can do so with limited loss of life we will." He began applying mental pressure once more as he spoke with cold, hard finality. "But if we have to step over the corpse of every female and child to accomplish our purpose we will."

As he'd hoped, within the sheath of Light he caught an image of Tempest Keep and its four attached Satellite structures coming under attack, and the top right satellite breaking away and disappearing in a dimensional rift, carrying the aforementioned innocent draenei to safety. Accompanying that thought was a feeling of intense satisfaction. "You may pretend to say the truth, as you pretend to have my best interests at heart, human. But I know you care only to break me, and all that is in you is violence and bloodlust. Do you think I cannot feel the demonic taint within you? You reek of it so badly my stomach heaves."

Nex pushed against his mind once more. "Tempest Keep has four satellite structures. What are their names? I'll want to know them so if you tell me where your mate is to be found I can find her and bring her to you."

Along with enough contempt and derision to inform him that Veilan's mate was dead, that emotional trigger earned him the name of at least the top right satellite that was meant to take the refugees to safety. "Exodar", the last refuge of the draenei people. If every battle was lost and the Tempest Keep itself destroyed, the Exodar would take the draenei to a new home, as it had done not so far in the distant past in bringing the draenei to Draenor.

Nex smiled. Now he was getting somewhere.

. . . . .

When Lokiv stormed into Theril's tent all the officers were there. Since setting out in pursuit of Tempest Keep their sporadic meetings in Theril's tent had become nightly strategy sessions.

Velansar was lounging against the center pole, whetting a dagger. He looked up coldly when Lokiv entered. "Something you needed, human?"

Lokiv glanced around. "Conferring with your fellow officers, Redcrest? Odd that I wasn't invited."

The Spell Breaker's expression hardened. "Merely socializing. I can make no apologies that your presence was not desired by anyone."

For a long moment the human met Velansar's gaze, expression dark. Then he nodded. "Fair enough. Inform the men that we move out tomorrow."

Her father stiffened. "Has the keep begun moving again, then?"

"No. We're rejoining Prince Kael'thas's army. No more drilling or side-tracking searching for trouble, we travel straight there at double marching speed. I feel we've wasted enough time on this venture."

"Return without completing our task?" Saire asked incredulously. "On whose authority?"

Those soulless wells met hers, and she saw a tiny flame burning in their depths. "Mine. I expect to leave at daybreak tomorrow, make sure the men are prepared."

Velansar pushed away from the pole, hand going to a dagger at his belt. "You're mistaken. The time has long passed where you could simply give orders and expect to be obeyed, human. I've received no word of a recall from Kael'thas, and until I do we're following that damn keep until we're old and gray. In fact, perhaps it's time to discuss who's really in charge here."

Lokiv turned to fully face the Spell Breaker, and Saire felt a clutch of fear at seeing that shadows were gathering around him. "Perhaps it is," he whispered. Then he flung out his hand, calling out an incantation whose words made Saire's skin crawl even though she couldn't understand them. It took him less than an instant to cast his spell, and then power surged from him and struck the Spell Breaker. Velansar went rigid, every single muscle stiffening at once, and he clenched his teeth around a grunt. His muscles remained strained to the point of snapping, and sweat began beading on his brow. His breath began coming out in hissing wheezes, and then he closed his eyes and sank to his knees, making a prolonged keening noise.

Lokiv dropped his hand to his side, ignoring the blood elves around him going for their weapons. "You think your abilities grant you immunity to spells, Redcrest, but you're wrong. With enough power any protection can be breached, as you're now learning to your dismay."

Velansar sucked in a breath. "Gods damn you," he managed to spit out between gritted teeth.

Lokiv's eyes burned relentlessly into his. "You will never again challenge my authority, in public or in private. You will put your people in order forthwith, and severely punish any who attempt insubordination with me. And you will get the army ready to march by daybreak tomorrow, or your pain will end forever."

He turned to leave, and Saire spoke up hastily. "What did you do to him?"

The human stopped, but did not turn back to face them. "I've placed a curse upon him. Though it will not harm him physically he will feel endless agony, until the time I release him from it or he finds someone who can. I do not anticipate him finding anyone to render such assistance, however, because such an act would turn out very bad for them." He ducked through the tent flaps, disappearing into the night.

Saire stared at the flaps for a moment, then turned to Velansar. She had studied how to lift curses, and assuming this one was not beyond her abilities she could save Redcrest from his pain. But Lokiv would not react kindly to that. For the last few weeks he had seemed not to care that the blood elves hated him and were all but mutinous, but he seemed to have changed his mind about letting such behavior continue.

Breath coming in forceful gasps, Velansar somehow managed to get back to his feet, gripping the center pole tightly in one hand. "Are you all right?" Hardal asked, coming over and lending a supporting hand.

Velansar shook the aid off with a snarl. "The pain remains continuous, but my ability to function within it returns. Let us discuss what to do about this new state of affairs."

"One moment," Theril said, turning towards her. "Saire, go bed the human."

Saire stiffened. "What?"

"We need to know what he's thinking, why he's decided upon this course. You're the only one he still seems to trust."

She shook her head, scowling, noticing that across the tent Hiezal was gripping his sword tightly. "Like hell I will. After what the human did to me I'd sooner bed a Broken."

"This is no time to be proud, daughter. What will Kael'thas say if we return as failures without his specific command to do so? We must find out what the human knows, and see if we can sway him from his course. For our people."

"I...I can't." She couldn't even bear the pretense now. "It's been too long, he'll be suspicious."

"Then allay his suspicions with your mouth," Velansar snapped, hissing through his teeth at the pain. "Give him a reason to open his while yours is busy."

Her father strode forward and put a firm hand on her shoulder, ushering her towards the entrance. "Go, daughter. For your people."

Saire resisted at the entry for a moment, but finally allowed herself to be shoved into the night, grumbling and cursing quietly to herself.

Oh well. She'd go sit in his tent for a few minutes and try to wrangle some information out of him, then she'd be back to the group to hear what their plans were.

When she entered Lokiv's tent he sat cross-legged on his cot, open eyes staring at the dull patched wall without seeing it. Wherever his mind was, it was far away, and he ignored her when she entered and for long minutes afterwards as she stood quiet, waiting to be acknowledged. Finally she grew impatient and spoke. "The others don't understand your orders."

"And you do?" Lokiv replied, still staring at the tent wall. He raised a hand before she could respond. "Of course they don't understand, considering I didn't explain my reasonings to them."

"Perhaps you should. They will balk, otherwise."

The human laughed softly. "Their obtuseness precludes any outcome but willful incomprehension."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"If I explained myself to them, they would deliberately misinterpret and misunderstand my words. They do not wish to hear an explanation from the human. That is why you are here."

She blinked. "It is?"

"Naturally. I assume they sent you to inveigle the information from my grasping fingers with your womanly charms. You are a bridge between a vast gulf, with both sides happy this is so. You will hear my reasons and your mind will be open to accepting their possibility. Then you will go back and explain those reasons to the others, and they will be open to hearing my words from your lips. Now the responsibility falls upon you to make sure they understand and obey, particularly Redcrest."

Saire felt a chill. She wished he would look at her. "And if I can't manage that?"

His eyes finally moved to meet hers, and she found herself wishing the opposite when she saw those empty wells in that impassive face. "When a leader cannot call upon loyalty and respect from his subordinates, his only recourse is force. My display in the tent earlier was but a warning: if the others continue to balk, my next use of force will be far more punishing."

She swallowed and looked away, unable to meet that gaze for long. Not here in the dark, alone and with nothing to prove. "Let's hear it, then. Why are we leaving?"

. . . . .

A half hour later she returned to the tent to find Velansar's curse dispelled.

"Is this wise, father?" she asked, for of course he knew how to break curses same as she did.

Theril shrugged. "If the human wishes to punish me he may do so. I'll not see a fellow blood elf in pain if it can be prevented. What did you learn, daughter?"

The conversation had died as soon as she entered the tent, and now all eyes were upon her. Saire swallowed slightly and began. "The human has been interrogating the draenei. He found some way to break through the man's will to learn what he needed. There are protocols the draenei follow in regards to Tempest Keep, protocols that they strictly adhere to. Learning those protocols made it clear to the human that capturing the keep from land will be impossible."

"Why?" her father demanded.

"Tempest Keep's protocols allow for no error. The scouts watch constantly, in direct communication with the pilots. And there is always a man at each dimensional drive, ready to set the entire complex fleeing at the slightest hint of danger. The slightest hint, father, no matter who and what they have to leave behind when they flee."

"That's absurd," her father protested. "That makes no strategic sense."

"This goes beyond strategy. The draenei came to Outland using Tempest Keep, and it remains their last escape. If they lose it their race is doomed. Beyond that, nearly a thousand refugees and soldiers man the complex. Mostly defenseless women and children. They will run no risk of those innocents falling into peril."

"So you're saying the only way we'll take Tempest Keep is by finding a way to fly there?" Hardal asked softly. He didn't seem overly concerned by the notion.

She nodded. "The human assures me that there is no other way."

Everyone's eyes bored into her. "And you're certain he can be trusted in this?" Velansar asked. "We know Lokiv wishes to leave the draenei alone, and this is a good excuse to do so."

Saire refused to be goaded by his tone. "I believe so. He was very specific with the protocols, and they didn't seem like something he could simply make up."

"I wouldn't underestimate what the human can make up," Hiezal said with a slight smile. "Devious mind, that."

Saire ignored him. "He wants to return to the army and request the services of every dragonhawk Kael'thas can spare. With them we'll be able to take the keep for sure."

Velansar swore. "He's probably right, at that. Better to go try and get dragonhawks than to simply sit around waiting for a flying keep to fall into our hands by a miracle." He turned to the others. "It's decided, then. Return to your tents and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day."

"Wait!" Saire protested. "What's decided?"

"That we'll follow the human's orders, of course," Hardal said amiably.

Saire didn't believe a word of that. Velansar was talking about some decision they'd been debating before she arrived. "You send me away while you confer, and now that I return and report the meeting is suddenly over?"

Impassive faces watched her. "It's late," Theril said. "We'll reconvene in the morning before we set out, and fill you in completely about our final decision."

Saire opened her mouth to protest once more, but Hiezal came over and slipped an arm around her waist, squeezing her thigh lightly. "Come on," he whispered. "Would I leave you in the dark? Let's go to my tent and help you forget the touch of human hands."

Saire balked for a moment. "Suddenly now you don't care that I bed the human?"

His lips brushed her neck, sliding along her jaw until they tickled her ear, making her shiver slightly. "You do it for information. I didn't know that before. Now that I do, I know who you truly care about. Let's get you cleaned up and have some fun, all right? Tomorrow's going to be a long march."

Saire hesitated for another moment, but then his lips found their way back to her neck, and she caved. Perhaps she cared more than she pretended to that Hiezal didn't despise her for what he thought she did with the human. Without another protest she allowed herself to be led from the tent.

. . . . .

"Last call! Prepare to move out in ten minutes!" a crier outside her tent called.

Saire finished packing their bed and picked it up with a grunt, backing out of the tent flaps and turning to take it to its wagon and tuck it in. The thing was heavy, blankets and all, but she'd ferried it dozens of times now when raising and striking her tent. Considering he'd abandoned his own tent to move into hers, Hiezal did almost nothing to help strike the tent, and only helped set it up so he could get her inside faster.

Outside she saw the elves drilling, in an odd formation with the archers spread out over a hundred or so yards in every direction, never closer than ten yards apart, and the melee fighters standing in a ring around the center of the camp. They, too, were spread out, though more closely packed than the archers. Spell Breakers were spread through the formation, tense and wary. Even her apprentice mages were in formation, standing fifty yards away from the center of camp in either direction. They looked even more tense than the Spell Breakers.

A cheery whistling was all the warning she had, and then Hiezal was walking beside her. As usual, he didn't bother offering to carry her load. "Slept well, did you?" he asked.

"Well enough." Saire motioned at the elves. "What's this?"

Her erstwhile lover laughed lightly. "Some fool notion of Redcrest's. Formation 32a."

She frowned. She wasn't familiar with all the formations, but she knew that one well enough. It was meant to be used on casters, a means of providing the most offensive capability without bunching the troops and making them vulnerable to area of effect spells. In fact, as she recalled the "a" addendum was the one used for particularly powerful, high mobility casters.

"Ah," she said. "Redcrest still worried about the mages we encountered last week?" The draenei mages had been mostly stationed on Tempest Keep, and by the time their forces had really engaged the draenei had been too far away to pose a serious threat. Still, they had been hit with the tail ends of a few blizzard spells.

"Something like that."

Something in the way Hiezal said that made her glance at him. He'd sounded cheerful, but actually he was as grim as any of the others. And his eyes weren't on her, but on...

Lokiv's tent.

Suddenly, she understood the formation. It also became abundantly clear why her father had kicked her out of the tent last night while the others talked, and the discussion had died as soon as she returned. "No!" she gasped, leaping forward. Midleap strong arms caught her, and before she could even begin to struggle she felt a blade's edge, cold as a slap, against her throat.

"Please be still," Hiezal said quietly behind her. She didn't think she'd ever heard him sound so pleading. "If you resist, they'll have you killed."

Saire went still. She could Blink, probably before Hiezal could even begin to react, but the bowmen would get her. "Why?"

She'd meant the question to be for the human's sake, but Hiezal interpreted it differently. "I know you're loyal, girl. Your father does too, and Hardal argued for you. But in the end you were the human's lover, right? And you've spoken for him since near the beginning." His grip on her suddenly tightened; Lokiv was emerging from his tent. "Not a word now," he warned.

Lokiv's back was to them as Velansar approached him, but they were close enough to hear the exchange. "Are the troops ready?" the human said tersely. "We've wasted enough time in this desolate place."

Velansar had an odd smile on his face. He'd hated the human more than any of them, ever since the beginning. "Yes, human, the troops are ready."

Something in his tone must have alerted Lokiv, for he looked around calmly and saw the elves arrayed around him. Unlike Saire, he seemed to immediately grasp the situation. "I see. Mutiny, Redcrest?"

The Spell Breaker's smile widened, and he subtly hefted his warglaive. "Oh no, _Lord_ Lokiv. You fell battling the draenei. A heroic fall, to be sure, swarmed by dozens of them. And you gave as good as you got, although finally their ferocity overwhelmed you. We all deeply grieve your death, of course."

"Of course." The human appeared perfectly at ease. He took a moment to glance around the ring of elves. Hemming him in, if his ability to make controlled Blinks could take him no farther than forty yards, as seemed to be its limit. No matter how he tried to escape, he'd have arrows raining on him, spells striking him, and Spell Breakers ready to engage, perhaps not immune to his powerful magic, but at the very least resistant.

"Fool," Hiezal muttered behind her. "His moment of triumph is going to get dozens of us killed. He should have just taken Lokiv in the throat the moment the human left his tent."

Lokiv finished his inspection, still calm. "I can't say as I blame you, Redcrest. Having me as leader must have been a constant insult. A dire insult. I am, however, curious as to why it took you this long. Not even a single assassination attempt up til now."

"You had use up until now, human. Kael'thas made it very clear that you were to see to the naaru in Tempest Keep before we moved against you. It was your single purpose, aside from a minor secondary desire to keep Stormrage happy. But now, seeing as how your bungling has permanently denied us access to our objective, we return home as failures no matter how events play out. No reason to worry about displeasing Stormrage now. So you die."

"Fair enough. I daresay I've had it coming." With shocking suddenness Lokiv leapt backwards, disappearing into his tent.

"LOOSE!" Velansar roared. As one three dozen bowstrings twanged, even as melee troops surged forward, still careful to remain spread out. Two fireballs arced toward the hideous canvas of the tent, and then the entire thing went up in flames as her father dropped a flamestrike on it.

Lokiv didn't emerge before the attacks landed, and afterwards it was readily apparent that anything within was nothing more than ash now. Saire felt a surprising numbness at the sight, although a part of her refused to believe Lokiv could die so easily.

Velansar seemed to feel the same. "He Blinked!" the Spell Breaker yelled. "Find him!"

Feeling a surge of relief Saire whirled, casting her eyes in every direction searching for Lokiv's ragged cloak. But even as she and all those around her searched her father raised his voice. "Don't be a fool, Redcrest. You can't Blink from inside a tent. The mind is incapable of making the calculations necessary for a safe Blink while unable to see the destination."

"Don't tell me what the bastard can't do! There's no possible way he was that easy to kill."

"He's not within the perimeter!" one of the Spell Breakers called.

Velansar cursed. "Fan out! Dor'ane, get word to the scouts, have them search for any sign! He might have been able to Blink outside the perimeter."

Her father was shaking his head. "That's even more absurd than Blinking through a wall. The power necessary to Blink more than a hundred yards would have been felt, and I felt-"

The Spell Breaker captain whirled, face nearly purple with rage. "Shut the fuck up, old man! In Sunstrider's name find me the goddamn human!"

Hiezal suddenly disappeared from behind her, running forward toward the tent. Saire followed at a slower pace, still stunned by the suddenness at which her people had turned on the human. Hiezal crouched awkwardly within the still smoking ruins, wincing and dancing slightly in place at the heat of the ground. Then he stooped forward, fingers closing around an object, and came up with a blade between his thumb and forefinger. Almost immediately he cursed, blade dropping from his grip. He managed to catch the hilt in his other hand before it struck the ground, even as blood welled on the pads of his thumb and finger. "Gods of Azeroth, the thing's sharper than any razor!"

Velansar lunged forward, hastily-but carefully-snatching the weapon from Hiezal's hand. "It's Lokiv's all right," he said, carefully inspecting it. Saire moved a few more steps forward, close enough to see that the Spell Breaker was holding Lokiv's dagger, the one that was always at his waist. The one with the oddly large pommel, that he gripped when...

Saire jerked her head up, eyes widening. Velansar was speaking as she strode towards him. "The edge and tip are both unnaturally thin, reinforced by magic. I imagine this thing could cut through-"

"Let me see that," she said, snatching it from his fingers. For a moment he tensed as if he was going to strike her, but relaxed when she turned all her attention to the strange weapon. Yes, it was as she'd thought; it was the artifact she was sure he must have been using. Just like the Ankh, there was an ingrained spell matrix here, one of breathtaking elegance and complexity. It did all the work when it came to forming a Blink spell, requiring only energy to power it and minute changes to affect the spell itself.

Which was not to say the thing was simple. Quite the opposite. She'd never seen a minute teleport spell matrix this complex, and to use it to its full potential would require an almost inhuman skill for spacial recognition, as well as the ability to perform complex mathematical equations swiftly and a deep grasp of physics. To calculate distance, speed, momentum, trajectory, and half a dozen other factors while at the same time powering the spell matrix... well, she wasn't sure even with practice that she'd be able to use the weapon as Lokiv had been using it. That he could make such calculations near instantly while concentrating on a dozen other issues on the battlefield suggested a phenomenal mind. But even so, the ability to use this dagger to its full potential would make it a treasure even to skilled Archmages.

"Well?" Velansar demanded.

Saire looked up. "This is how Lokiv was Blinking."

A motion to her right caught her eye, and she turned to see her father approaching after using a more conventional Blink spell. "Impossible. He would not leave such a thing behind."

"He _couldn't_ leave such a thing behind," Saire shot back. "Not and escape."

Theril snatched the dagger from her hand and cursed as blood welled along his palm where it had grazed the blade. Then he cursed again, staring at the dagger in wonder. "Yes. Yes, daughter, I see what you mean. Extraordinary. This must be a Highborne night elven artifact. No other mages created relics employing such brute-force power coupled with such delicate intricacy."

"You're saying Lokiv couldn't have Blinked," Velansar growled, his impatience obvious.

"No," Theril said. "The shadow magics he employed weren't conducive to such teleport spells. I am sure he used this relic for most of his acrobatics."

The Spell Breaker cursed and squatted in the midst of the burned tent, sifting through the ashes with his fingers. "No bones."

Her father sounded offended. "I assure you, my spell was hot enough to eliminate such waste. I took no chances where the human was concerned."

Saire stepped away from the others, staring at the tent. It surprised her how hollow she felt. She could imagine Lokiv, leaping backwards into the tent, scrabbling at his belt for the dagger that would be his escape, only to find it gone from his waist. She could imagine his surprise as fire roared up around him, snuffing out his life before he could prepare any defensive spells.

"It's true," she said quietly. "He really is gone." She hadn't even liked the human, so why did she feel so empty? He doubtless deserved death.

Yet he had worked hard to lead her people and preserve their lives. He had even been angry when they'd lost soldiers. Perhaps it was merely wounded pride, but he had cared. She could see his face after Nothlais had succumbed to magic addiction and become a Wretched, the anger and frustration. It had been more than a commander losing a soldier, that look. He had cared.

"Yes, it would appear so," Velansar said quietly, standing. For a moment he looked torn, angry, and then he turned to one of his attendants. "Scour the area for ten miles in every direction even so. I believe he's dead, and good riddance, but no sense in being careless." Then he turned to Saire, eyes narrowed. "Best not grieve too openly, slut. Your people might begin wondering where your sympathies lie. Which is to say, more than they already do."


	16. Intended Consequences

Cliffhangers are no fun, ne? Thanks for bearing with me for a week :).

NT

Chapter Fifteen

Intended Consequences

The tiny space smelled faintly of rotted flesh.

Nex exhaled and stifled his breathing, allowing his magic to keep his body hale. He could do so for a good ten minutes before extreme measures were necessary. That or another breath; given the surprising pervasiveness of the odor he was trapped with he was almost tempted to do the former.

He had thought he'd be done with Lightfinder when he tossed the paladin's head into the abyss, but apparently the man had left one last annoyance to remember him by. Then again, this place had likely not been properly aired for ten thousand years.

It didn't take more than a few seconds to feel out the dimensions of his new prison. Four feet by four feet by four feet. The walls seemed to be made of pure glass or something approximating that perfect smoothness. In one corner there were a few fairly substantial pouches, the clink of metal suggesting coins. Small surprise. If he'd hoped to find any valuable artifacts aside from gold he was disappointed.

With a sigh Nex leaned back against the smooth, unyielding surface. Who knew what was on the other side of that barrier, or what dimension this pocket was in. In his hand he still held the satiny cloth; as he'd drawn it through the dimensional pocket portal he'd felt the blast of heat signaling that he'd need to find a new tent, but thankfully the cloth itself appeared unmarred to his second sight.

Those bastards.

Drawing the cloth of the dimensional portal into the pocket itself was similar to locking yourself in a room and tossing a key out the window. He had no guarantee that if he tried to open the portal again it would take him back to where his tent had stood, now that there was no tangible connection to that area. If the creators of this space had planned for safeguards then it was possible that it would open up to where it had last opened up, if he put the cloth up from this side. But nothing was guaranteed.

Gods damn. His dagger was gone too. It must have fallen off his belt as he scrabbled to get the portal up and through it in time. Not that trying to Blink outside this box was anything short of suicide, but it was one less option he had available to him.

Felshit. Those fucking elves. He shouldn't have been surprised that as soon as they decided their mission had failed that they turned on him like wild dogs. Maybe he _should_ have tried fleeing with the Blinkstrike. It probably would have succeeded. Well, it most likely would have succeeded. At the very least, chances were fair that he would have lived. But nooo, he decided to pull a bit of sleight of hand on them and disappear clean.

Sitting in a tiny space comprised of a hard, smooth surface joined by ninety degree angles was more uncomfortable than he could have imagined, and he'd been in some damned uncomfortable places. With a sigh he shifted his hips and bunched his cloak to cushion more of his weight.

He was no stranger to theorycrafting. Spellcasters who didn't have a healthy respect for theorycrafting tended to attempt things that ultimately got them killed. That was because, aside from postulating hypothesis, the only other alternative was experimentation. And it was hard to experiment with any sort of reliable controls when you were dealing with something as volatile as magic. So in theory there could be several outcomes from trying to reopen the portal. One, and most ideal, was that it would open back to the spot he'd closed it from. Two, less ideal, it would open to any random spot in all of creation. Given the massive expanse of the Great Dark Beyond and the sheer number of inhospitable dimensions, that option was as good as suicide.

Three, least ideal of all, he'd try to make an opening and because there was no link outside this pocket, it would fail entirely and he'd be stuck here. In which case even with his magic bolstering his lungs he'd eventually run out of air and die. Four cubic feet was not a whole lot, even for him.

Nex swore again, long and eloquently, halfway through which he belatedly realized he was wasting breath and switched to swearing in his head. He wanted to test the cloth now, but at the same time he preferred to wait until the army of pissed-off elves moved away first. Now that he was "dead" and their mission had failed, they'd likely slink back to Kael'thas for their whipping. With any luck they'd do it soon.

But for all he knew they might decide to throw a massive festival first to celebrate his death, and wouldn't move from this spot for days. And since he had no idea how time flowed in this pocket relative to Outland time, he had no guarantee that he wouldn't come out to find only moments had passed.

Doubtful. If there was any sort of discrepancy in the flow of time, it would be slewed the other way. The creators of this pocket would want time to flow slowly here relative to the outside world, to preserve the items stored here. Again doubtful, since the primitive Highborne elves back then had likely barely begun exploring dimensional space and were still in the process of discovering time. And they were certainly centuries away from even hypothesizing about space-time.

Exhaling fully, then inhaling to a comfortable level-gods this place stank-he spread out diagonally in the little space, trying for as much room as possible and resting his head on the sacks of gold. It was, unsurprisingly, very uncomfortable. Then he closed his eyes, for all the good that did him, and searched deep within himself.

Druids had an astonishing technique that allowed them to slow their heartbeats down to one beat per hour, give or take. This state of deep, deep hibernation allowed them to "sleep" for years, by all appearances dead, while their consciousnesses safeguarded the Emerald Dream. Nex was certainly no druid, and he couldn't reach such a state of perfect hibernation, but with concentration and using a modified sleep spell he might be able to reach a hibernation deep enough to greatly extend his survival time. More than a week, if he wanted to run the risk of brain damage from lack of oxygen. He settled for ninety hours, considering the air had been stale when he arrived and he hadn't been as careful as he could have been those first few moments.

Then he enacted the spells and his brain essentially shut down.

. . . . .

Magtheridon's throne seemed enormous with Illidan sitting cross-legged in the midst of it, his warglaives crossed over his knees. The demon night elf should have looked tiny in comparison, but his sheer presence forced everything else to conform around him, making the rest of the room look freakish large instead.

His new master had changed since taking the throne of Black Temple and proclaiming himself Lord of Outland. He'd become remote and distant, his elvish characteristics diminishing and his demonic aspects flourishing. Had any of his subordinates been worthy of asking him the question, Kael'thas would have openly admitted to feeling uneasy in Illidan's presence. It seemed he was not alone, for his master's elvish and naga honor guard stood uneasy at their posts, and shot more than a few nervous glances at the greater demons Illidan had taken under his control.

Kael'thas strode past elves, naga, and demons all, going to one knee before the throne. "News, master," he said.

It was impossible to tell if Illidan's eyes opened beneath his rough cloth blindfold, or if they simply flared brighter so their sickly green glow became visible. The demon stirred slightly, warglaives clicking together in a soft but sinister noise. How long had he been sitting motionless in that position before Kael'thas came? Had the creature moved since last he'd come? Did his master sleep, or eat, or do any other normal mortal activities? "Continue, my right hand," Illidan said quietly.

Kael'thas nodded, remaining on his knees. It galled him to kneel before any creature, but if there was any who deserved it, it was this one before him. "The dragonhawk scouts return from their flyovers of Nagrand and western Terrokar. We've located several groups of remnant orcs that Magtheridon did not snatch up. At the least, their skin is the normal green or brown."

Illidan nodded slightly. "Good. I assume you sent out raiding parties to capture them as soon as their locations were made known?"

"Yes, Lord Illidan."

"I am pleased to hear it. Many of the fel orc leaders have sworn themselves to me, and I've sent them to escort Magtheridon to Hellfire Citadel. Inform your raiding parties to bring the captured orcs there. We shall see if the blood oath's curse can be forced upon an unwilling victim, especially when administered with the blood of an unwilling pit lord."

Kael'thas hesitated. "And if not, my Lord?" If not, they'd have a bunch of useless orcs they'd have to guard and feed, in the wasteland of Hellfire Peninsula no less.

"It can. There is no demonic corruption that cannot be managed, if enough effort of time and blood is spent to the task."

"As you say, my Lord."

Illidan waved that away. "Anything else?"

Kael'thas again hesitated. This was not such good news. "Word arrived from my Captain, Velansar Redcrest, who serves under your human." That arrangement still confused him, and he had no idea whether his master was receiving news through this creature Lokiv. And if so, why he asked Kael'thas to keep tabs on him through Redcrest. "It seems the human has been reported missing following the battle with the guardians of Tempest Keep. He is presumed captured or dead."

That was a lie, of course. Redcrest had reported that Lokiv was no longer useful to them, and they'd slain him. Or at least all signs pointed to the human being dead.

Illidan's lips quirked upward slightly, as if he was aware of the minor subterfuge. "Is he, now."

"Is he not, my Lord?"

"No, he is not dead," Illidan cocked his head slightly. "I would know it. But my awareness of him has been muffled, of late. His mind is closed to me."

Kael'thas fought the urge to reach up and touch his own Illidari stone, which rested in his most secure pocket. Ostensibly a gift, but he knew it for as good as a collar around his neck. If Illidan wished it, he could divine information about Kael'thas as well using that stone. "He has defected?"

"I think not. It seems more as if he sleeps, but so deeply that I cannot rouse him."

"I see. I would ask you to urge him to rejoin his army, if ever you are able to communicate with him." Redcrest really wanted the man dead, and Kael'thas was of a similar mind. Whatever usefulness the human had provided was long since past.

"We shall see." Illidan canted his head once more. "What of the battle for Tempest Keep?"

More bad news. "It seems the human's bungling of strategy has allowed the defenders of the structure to flee with it intact. They report that it has not returned to dock with the continent, and the draenei remain on high alert following the mismanaged attack. Should the Keep ever become accessible from ground again, Captain Redcrest doubts he will be able to board it before it escapes once more. He believes only the ability to fly will bring success back into their grasp."

Illidan nodded slowly. "Small surprise. The attack on Tempest Keep was always a gamble. I assume the civilians I sent out to the task have formed themselves into a workable army by now?"

"They have, my Lord. Redcrest reports successful skirmishes with fel orcs and Broken draenei. It seems the human did one thing right in pressing their training."

"Recall them then. If they meet up with any more Broken they are to inform them that their Elder Sage, Akama of the Ashtongue tribe, has sworn them to my service. They are to recruit all such Broken they find and do their best to equip and train them."

Kael'thas nodded. "To what end, if I may ask?"

"A good question. The Corona's Blaze elves are a well-located asset, farther west than any of our current forces." Illidan straightened slightly. "How goes Voren'thal's preparations to lead an attack on Shattrath? I trust you've stressed the need to keep the momentum going; now that Magtheridon is crushed we must move quickly to take Outland before the naaru and their draenei thralls spread out and begin stealing the strategic points."

"He has had some measure of success training the recruits pressed from among the refugees, and some of our best and brightest arcanists have sworn themselves to his service."

"Good. Set Redcrest and any forces he can muster under Voren'thal's command, and have them rendezvous on the northern border of Terrokar, where the Zangar Marshes meet up with the forest continent."

"It will be done, my Lord." Kael'thas bowed low. "If that is all?" There was no answer, and he came to his feet and began backing away. Just as he turned and took his first step towards the door Illidan's voice paused him.

"And Kael'thas, inform your man that he is not to attempt to assassinate Lokiv again. The human has failed for now, but he has proven resourceful in the past and continues to be an asset to me."

"As you say, my Lord."

He was almost to the door when Illidan's voice again came to his ears, barely audible. "And even if he were to fail, it is mine to decide punishment. Never forget that, Kael'thas."

Kael'thas turned and bowed low, feeling a chill. Demons heal swift, particularly pit lords, but the courtyard of the Black Temple constantly rang with Magtheridon's screams as Illidan's demonic minions leeched blood from the monstrous demon. Direct from his heart.

. . . . .

His hibernation spell had been quite effective. Without even dreams-and thankfully without the nightmares of his regenerative trance-to accompany his sleep, when he came to himself it seemed like no time had passed at all. The only indication of the passage of time was that the air was almost impossibly stuffy, so that when he breathed it felt like he had a hundred pounds sitting on his chest.

Four days, if the spell had lasted as long as he'd meant it to. _Four days, gone in the blink of an eye. I should do this more often_. An idle thought occurred to him, to wonder if death was such a blessed oblivion. Gods, he could only hope so.

Well, his hibernation hadn't been as effective at preserving his oxygen supply as he'd hoped. Perhaps he should have left himself at least a few hours to tinker with the pocket portal and make sure he could in fact get out of this hole. But it was too late now, with hands beginning to shake from asphyxiation he drew the pocket portal's cloth out, supplied it with the proper shape of power, and flung it at the place along the wall where he'd drawn it from.

No sense waiting in tense anticipation when reality is right there for him to see.

For a moment the cloth hung, sagging slightly, and he felt his heart lurch. Then it stabilized, stiffening and smoothing into its perfectly flat square. Between one infinitesimally small moment and the next it vanished, leaving him with an opening three feet square looking out upon Netherstorm's bleak purple stone. He reached towards the opening, dizzy with relief and hope and probably lack of air, and his fingers hit an invisible wall as smooth and solid as steel.

He stared blankly at his hand, obstructed by the very opening that should have freed him. Then he realized that no wash of fresh air had hit his face when the portal opened. Of course. The portal had opened up on the last place it had been used, but there was no link on the other side to complete the connection and open the way for him. He could, it seemed, look but not touch.

For an eternity he gazed at the bit of rock and the violent sky with its netherstorms and odd planets that he could see through the window, fingers tracing the edge of the opening and every square inch of its surface. Then he bunched his hand into a fist and slammed it against the unyielding surface. Agony blossomed in his wrist and fingers as bones broke, and he cursed and cradled his hand against his stomach, falling back. Black specks were dancing before his eyes, and he was panting in useless air that was getting thicker and thicker in his lungs as he breathed it back out to no benefit.

It took him a few moments to realize he was laughing.

Of course. Of course. He should have expected it, but it still caught him by surprise. Like so many things in his life of late. The draenei and the naaru and Tempest Keep. The betrayal of the blood elves. Stormrage's ultimatum. As if the universe delighted in offering him some hope of worthwhile service only to mock him with constant failure.

He was going to die in this four by four box. His corpse would stare endlessly out at the netherstorms of Outland, no air to make it moulder, no one to discover it. And perhaps when they did finally catch sight of the odd window hovering in midair they would look inside and see his mummified remains and wonder if this was some odd burial ritual.

His vision dimmed down to points, but with effort he managed to lift himself back to his knees, using his second sight and gathering energy. He hurled that raw power at the barrier between him and life. It hit the barrier and dissipated as if reality itself mocked his efforts, and he fell back again, his energy spent, the last of his hope squandered.

Then a towheaded visage popped into view on the other side of the opening, peering in at him with a sort of blank amazement coupled with hope. Nex stared back, wondering if those same emotions were writ on his own face.

Ilinar Montfere was looking much the worse for wear. His face was strained with terror and distress, and a deep, deep weariness. Nex was no expert on privation when it came to food and drink, but he supposed there was some of that in the boy's pinched features as well. At the least, he bore no possessions besides the clothes on his back and the enchanted dagger clutched in one hand, so he must be suffering from acute dehydration.

Nex stared at the boy with shock and mounting anger. He had known the elves were filled with hatred and bitterness, and much of their civility and decency had fled in the wake of the things they'd suffered. But to leave a boy to die in this wasteland... he had not believed them capable of such callousness.

. . . . .

"You're not going anywhere, Saire," Hiezal protested.

Saire ignored him, striding through the camp with only a small satchel of food and water and a few important reagents. She was heading to the hawkstrider lines, planning on taking one even if she had to flee from camp with the other six in pursuit. Hiezal alternated between hurrying behind her and scurrying ahead and walking backwards in front of her, worry and unhappiness writ plain on his features. He hadn't tried to physically prevent her, yet: after he'd held a blade to her throat, the first time he'd tried to physically restrain her she'd turned on him in what would probably be described as a towering wrath. He still had a puffy lip and a bruise around his eye to testify to it.

He loped ahead and began walking backwards in front of her again, holding up his hands pleadingly. "Think about this logically. We've been gone for nearly four days, and Scout Yardai claims the boy had nothing with him. None of the scouts have seen any sign of the boy since we left Lokiv's Pyre behind. He has to be-"

"Yardai is guilty of as good as murder, beating the boy and chasing him off with a stick like that. Ilinar had just seen us kill his master, so he certainly wasn't going to risk trailing after us like a dog until we deigned to notice him and kill him as well."

"Not to sound heartless, Saire, but what good is this going to do? Netherstorm is a harsh land, and there are hunting beasts that roam it that avoid us because of our numbers. Of the half-elf boy they'd make a quick snack. And even if he survived their teeth and claws, he has no water, and the sun is as unforgiving here as on Hellfire Peninsula."

"Then I'll bring back his body, and see it properly burned or buried. At the least you murderers who claim to be civilized, decent elves will look at the boy you've slain."

Her lover's-no, _former_ lover's expression turned anguished. "I had no idea, Saire. Certainly, I might have stopped to consider it, but I've had all I could do worrying that Redcrest and his cronies might decide to come for you after all. I doubt even Yardai gave it more than passing thought. None of us were set to be the boy's keeper."

Saire turned away, trying to stalk around him and continue on her way, even as she ducked her head to hide the anguish her own face must be showing. She was as close to Ilinar's keeper as any in the camp, and she hadn't even spared him a thought for four days. Four days! Oh, certainly, she'd been quite happy to walk along behind the wagons in her position of disgrace, simmering in righteous indignation at the way her people, Hiezal, her own father even, had treated her. Totally selfish, like the rest of her people, losing what civility she had left to her while Ilinar shivered in the unforgiving cold, somewhere behind them.

Hiezal once again stepped in front of her, and this time he lifted a hand and pressed it gently to her chest, stopping her. Saire's rage boiled over once again, as it did so easily these days, and she struck out at him. He calmly caught that hand, and she struck with her other, forcing him to take his hand from her chest to catch that one as well. Screeching in rage she tried to kick him between the legs, and he awkwardly hopped sideways for a few seconds, then abruptly pushed forward, tackling her to the ground and throwing his weight atop her.

"Get off me, damn you! Are you going to keep me prisoner for the rest of my life, tackle me whenever I try to flee? Hold a knife to my throat whenever I don't do as you please?"

He finally pinned her, panting in her ear. By the Sundered Sunwell, was he laughing or crying? "I had no choice, Saire! They wouldn't trust me when I told them you could be trusted. Redcrest told me if I didn't restrain you he would have someone else do it, and they wouldn't be nearly so gentle about it. I would rather you hate me than risk seeing you die for the sake of that fucking human!"

"Well I do hate you!" Saire screeched. She continued to struggle with all her might, making no headway against his superior strength. She wasn't so out of control that she'd resort to magic, not even now, but tears of rage and helplessness clouded her vision. She hated that, hated that _he_ was making her cry, hated that she was so weak she couldn't control her own emotions. Humiliating her in the dirt like she was some hog to be rustled! All that remained was for some raucous elf to tell them they should take their pillow play to a tent. "I do hate you," she said again, in a whisper this time. "If you'd trusted me you would have told me beforehand. Even after all we've shared, you still thought I'd go running to the human with a warning."

Hiezal's voice came pleading, low and dull. "It would've been both our lives if you had. If I have to protect you from yourself, I will."

With a snarl Saire glared ahead of her through tear-filled eyes, searching for an open space. Then she Blinked, flailing her arms and legs to get them beneath her as she did. She only half succeeded, and ended up slamming her jaw against the ground as she fell. Then she rose stiffly to her feet, dusting at her clothes.

Hiezal was on his feet as well. "Come back to our tent, Saire," he begged. "There's nothing out there."

Saire turned and stalked away, but even as she did she knew that he was right. It was too late to rescue Ilinar. She hadn't even thought of the poor child until it was too late.

With a hiss of pure emotion she dashed at the tears in her eyes, stalking through the camp. She couldn't return to Hiezal's tent. She didn't know if she'd ever be able to forgive him for this, for all of it. And she wasn't near ready to even think of pretending to forgive him, even if there had been some benefit to it. But her own tent had been claimed by someone else, all her possessions but her bag of reagents taken as well. She had nowhere to go, now.

Well, she had one place to go.

Her father's large tent was dark, her father obviously asleep. He hadn't been nearly so disturbed at Ilinar's absence, and had even known enough of it to point her towards Yardai in her search for the boy. Without knocking she ducked inside, and almost immediately a ball of light appeared above her father's cot, his eyes peering at her warily with icy blue spreading across them, indicating he was preparing to cast a frost spell.

The light in his eyes faded when he recognized her, but his expression, if anything, became even more unfriendly. "You would shame my tent by coming here after what you've done, daughter?"

Saire drew in a breath, then spat full in his face. "What _I've_ done, father?" she demanded incredulously.

Her father slowly reached up to wipe the spittle from his cheek. His eyes were frosting to blue again. "Should I make you pay for this temper tantrum?"

She spit in his face again, drawing her own power and preparing a counterspell. "You all but pushed me into the human's tent to become his lover so I could become _your_ spy. I did what I did for my people, for Corona's Blaze. But you call me traitor like all the rest, and set goons to holding swords to my throat. You set me to walking behind the wagons like a fucking slave, only the freak goatman prisoner to keep me company." Saire laughed harshly. "By the Sunwell, I'm surprised you didn't leave me behind to die the way you did Ilinar."

Her father hesitated in drawing power, then sighed and let it flow away once more. "You took to your duties so well, there was no way to know whether you were genuine. Oh certainly, you never refused to supply information on the human, but how sure could I be that you weren't withholding anything?" His eyes hardened. "You never told me his name was Nex, or that he was a murderer wanted by the Kirin Tor."

Saire gave a start, eyes widening in spite of her efforts to remain impassive. "What makes you say that?"

A grim smile touched his lips. "I'm not blind, daughter, and I know you better than anyone. When he named himself to the ethereals you showed no surprise. Not the poker face one would expect from one trying to hide surprise, but the recognition of one who's hearing what she already knows. I saw that your ingredients for the Oridl fetish had been used, even the container which held them destroyed, and I guessed that you'd contacted him and wrung whatever information about the human you could. Information you never saw fit to pass on to me."

Saire straightened her shoulders haughtily. "Had you or our people had need of the information, I would have supplied it."

"Indeed?" He continued to stare at her distrustfully, and then sighed again. "I suppose in the end it doesn't matter. The human is dead, and any loyalty you may have had for him died when he did. Welcome home, daughter." And he held out his arms as if to embrace her.

Saire glared at him, then took the rug from the floor and of it made a crude bed in the corner. "You make a clumsy pimp, father, whoring me out so inexpertly that you can't even be sure you've kept control of me. If you knew me, loved me, or trusted me, or any combination of the three, you would have had no need to fear for my loyalty." She rolled herself into the carpet and pressed into the tent wall, closing her eyes as more tears leaked from them.

Prince Kael'thas would have need of a skilled mage, when they rejoined his forces. She would join his army, as she should have done from the beginning. Obviously her loyalty to her village, to her family even, was as great a joke as the wild goose chase they'd been sent on across four continents.

Yes, but it was the _humans_ that should be held as barbaric.

. . . . .

Montfere gaped at him, one hand half-outstretched as if to touch the barrier. His mouth worked, but Nex heard no sound, and couldn't tell if the boy spoke.

Nex couldn't keep back the relieved smile he felt. Perhaps fate or whatever powers made this universe the mockery it was had put the boy in his path for a reason. Chances were good that Montfere could provide the link he needed, simply by touching the barrier. He waited for Montfere to do just that, but the boy did nothing but continue to stand there staring stupidly at him.

He kept the smile plastered to his face, not wanting the spook the fool. False gods coupling with demon lords, was this the final joke? His last instants of air trickling away while the boy died of thirst in front of him without ever releasing him from his prison? He beckoned, but there was no response but Montfere dropping his hand and leaning closer, slack-jawed like a simpleton.

"Gods damn," Nex hissed through teeth gritted in a manic grin. "Touch the damn barrier, you ill-got round-faced pointy-eared buffoon." His second sight was becoming harder and harder to use, slippery to his perceptions, all the truths it provided becoming murky and hazed. In a last desperate measure he reached up and flattened his palm on the barrier, like a child trying to hold his parent's hand through a window.

Montfere continued to stare at him dully for a few more moments, and then finally reached out and pressed timid fingers to his.

Without any sound to herald it a blast of chilly, blessed air hit his face, ruffling his hair, and he panted in a deep breath, then laughed. "Montfere, you damned fool. I'll reward you over kings for thi-" He stopped mid-word when he realized that Montfere had disappeared from sight.

Feeling his strength returning in a flood, Nex leapt out of the dimensional pocket portal, tucking into a smooth roll that prevented any part of his body or clothing from even brushing the sides. He landed on one shoulder and continued his roll into a summersault, coming to his feet smoothly. Then he reached behind him, closing the pocket portal and catching the cloth. With his other hand he withdrew the box and folded it neatly inside.

Then he turned towards the figure huddled dejectedly on the ground.

Nex dug a toe into the boy's side. "Oy, page, wake up." Montfere barely stirred, though he groaned weakly. He looked on the brink of death, and perhaps had fallen into that final slumber from which he would never return. Nex waited a moment, then dug his boot into the boy's ribs again. "I said wake up." Not even a groan this time. The young half-elf's breathing was coming in wheezing gasps now, and Nex's good humor vanished.

He turned, looking in every direction. The camp was gone, barely any trace that it had ever been there. Only his burned tent stood testament to what had happened days ago. Hav'naki had returned to his people shortly after personally showing them Tempest's Keep from that ledge, and his information concerning water hadn't revealed any pockets closer than a day's travel from that location, or eight days' travel from where they now stood.

An army traveled as fast as its slowest member, and furthermore they'd been following the floating fortress, which crawled along at a snail's pace. If Nex ran with all speed he could get to that point in less than two days, he was certain. Perhaps as little as a day. And then a day back.

Even he knew that Montfere would be dead by then.

Perhaps there was water nearby. If he searched he would find it, maybe. But there was no guarantee he would any swifter than if he ran for the water he knew about.

Montfere made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a death rattle, and Nex whirled to face him, scowling. So. Logic suggested the boy was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to save him. You couldn't heal dehydration, and putting the youth in a deep hibernation in his current state wouldn't buy him much more than a few hours. Montfere was going to die.

"Shit."

It was waste, pure and simple. The boy showed promise in the arcane arts, and had been useful on occasion. Nex didn't like to see him die like this. Not at all. He hated waste.

"If you're going to die," he muttered, "it might as well be now, on my terms. For all you've done I can prevent further suffering, at least." Staring at the barely moving chest, Nex stretched forth his hand, but hesitated. "At least," he clarified, "I'll prevent extended suffering, and get some use out of your death. You probably won't enjoy this, but it'll be fast." He spoke the proper incantation, focusing his power, and a bar of purple-black energy connected him and the boy. Montfere went stiff in spite of his condition, a surprisingly loud gasp issuing from his mouth, as Nex drained his soul. Close as the boy was to death the spell did not take long to have its effect, and soon he held a soul shard in his hand, the boy's very being made physically manifest.

For long moments afterwards he stared at the despised thing; it was hard to keep himself from hurling it away. He hadn't stolen a soul since the death of his mistress, and even before that time it had only been at her behest, and under extreme duress. He had to believe that good could come from evil. He had to, for it was his very reason for existing.

Cradling the precious shard in his palm, he got to work.


	17. The Whacked

Chapter Sixteen

The Whacked

The monstrous spider buckled on twitching legs, hissing and gurgling as its head melted from the intense blast of shadow magic Nex had struck it with. Nex stood a short distance away breathing raggedly, more from the surprise of the encounter than from exertion. Blood dripped down his arm from where a razor spine on one of the creature's legs had cut him deep when he fended it off.

Though his eyes were fixed warily on the dying creature, with his second sight he was carefully inspecting the area for more of them. Something he should have been doing in the first place. Finally, satisfied that the spined arachnid was no longer a threat and that no more were coming, he shrugged out of his pack and began digging around in it for a bandage. He'd always been careful not to rely too heavily on any tool, but the farther he traveled through these damn mountains the more he lamented the loss of his Blinkstrike and Ankh. One doubtlessly looted by the elves that had tried to assassinate him, the other still in Saire's possession. The stupid bitch had been wounded for so much of the journey that he'd left it in her care until he needed it, and now retrieving it would be problematic.

Once his arm was tightly bound he fed more power into his demon skin to speed healing, shouldered his pack, and strode past the still-thrashing spider, kicking it in its melted face as he went. The thing crunched and flew through the air like a flabby football, its spiny limbs curling in death to make a spiked ball.

The only real lesson to take away from the experience was that he wasn't in Azeroth, and he had no idea what dangers Outland offered in the way of hostile denizens. Using his second sight required concentration, and he'd been content with just his two eyes as he traveled. Unfortunately eyes weren't so good at seeing spiny spiders the exact same color as the stone of these mountains, sitting still waiting for some fool to stroll past so it could jump him. He hadn't been genuinely surprised like that in a while.

But now the threat was past, and he paid more attention to his second sight. He got back to his original purpose for coming so close to one of the spined ridges of the Bladed Mountains, that being to activate his partial levitation spell, making himself lighter, and leap up to one of the large lower spines. As soon as he landed he pushed off again, jumping up to another spine, perfectly balanced and in control and not particularly worried that the slightest mistake could end with him skewered on a crystalline protrusion like an ogre's party favor. After a few minutes of leaping from spine to spine, "climbing" ever higher, he eventually landed between two of the spines sticking straight up into the air at the top of the ridge, balanced with his feet pressing out in either direction just below the tips to hold him up. These spines were a good fifteen feet tall, with more spines waiting below in the gaps, but his perch was good.

Taking a deep breath, he turned his gaze south and took in the path ahead.

He'd considered chasing after the elves at first, but eventually decided it would be more beneficial to simply circumvent them and return to Stormrage alone, as a failure. In truth he was surprised his master hadn't already tried to contact him. The elves had four days lead on him, give or take, and as he'd suggested to Redcrest they were pressing hard, not stopping to drill or take detours. They'd been into the Bladed Mountains by the time he'd reached the ethereal bridge spanning the two continents, and he'd decided to go deeper into the mountains and try to pass them by rather than following along the Mok'nathal path behind them.

It had proven to be a huge frustration. The Bladed Mountains really were the worst sort of area to traverse by foot. Even the expanse of cliffs, ridges, and ravines he'd first encountered in Hellfire paled in comparison. He'd been forced to scramble simply to keep pace with the speed he calculated the elves were going, and it was looking more and more like he wouldn't reach the tunnel before them.

On that topic, looking to the east he couldn't even see the Mok'nathal's path, it was so well hidden. And looking at his path ahead, it was nothing but thick folds of mountain sheathed in spines, with no path between them. If he went farther west he could hit the ravine the ogres infested and find easier going, but then he'd have to worry about avoiding the brutes. He wasn't sure it was worth it.

He sighed and gathered his power to strengthen his levitation spell, to the point that when he leapt off this ridge he'd drift slowly downward and rather swiftly forward and hit the next ridge along the line somewhere near the top. He was about to do just that when a flicker of motion far to the south caught his eye.

He was nearly to the massive barrier range connecting the Bladed Mountains and the Zangar Marshes. The tall, spiny mountains had been in view for a day or so now, whenever he was high enough to look over the surrounding obstacles and see them. He hadn't given them too close an inspection before now, since they were so high and unnavigable that he hadn't expected to see anything there.

But now he did, a tiny, winged shape, hugging the mountain close and maneuvering around the largest spines in an attempt to remain out of sight. It was largely successful, the shape coming into view only for brief snatches as it flew.

Even at this range, he recognized the body shape and wings as those of a dragon. No type of dragon he recognized, at least not from this distance, but definitely a dragon.

Interesting. What was it Vurgil had said about the leader of the ogres? Gruel or something? That he'd chased away Deathwing himself and lured many black dragons close to the spines, then used massive hooks to drag them down and impale them. Nex had seen the black dragon corpses, an impressive display that was hard to miss farther to the west along a tall range. He hadn't given it much thought besides that, though, since he wasn't particularly interested in encountering ogres _or_ black dragons.

Now, however, the sight of the thing flying with a sort of effortless grace through a very challenging obstacle course drew his interest. Dragons were notoriously uninterested in bargaining, particularly blacks, and their minds were almost impossible to control. Still, maybe there was some way he could enlist the creature's aid.

Before he could ponder the matter a pressure in his mind heralded his master's attention across the link. **"No longer hiding your mind from me, Nothing?"**

Nex winced at the force of the sending, almost a mental barrage, and fought to keep his precarious position wedged between the two spines. _Not at all, Master. My mind was perfectly open to you at all times. But I doubt I would have been an engaging conversationalist previously considering I was comatose._

Stormrage didn't seem amused when he responded. _"_**I believe, given the nature of our last discussion, that my move now is to kill you."**

Nex froze, trying not to let panic slip over him. _You know the more you use a threat without backing it up, Master, the less impact it has._

"**Perhaps now is when I finally do as I've said."**

_If it makes you feel better, I could once again try to explain the futility of trying to assault a floating fortress with ground troops._

"**No need, Nothing. Velansar Redcrest championed that particular cause. Although he didn't do it for your sake, obviously."**

_Yes, I have a hard time seeing Redcrest speaking on my behalf. He doesn't seem to like me._

"**I believe I already told you that maintaining discipline was your responsibility. Shall I clean up all your messes for you?" **Nex was about to respond when a sensation like a fist squeezing his thoughts blanked his mind. Apparently this particular discussion was over. Stormrage continued speaking into his thoughts. **"No moment, Nothing. Tempest Keep remains a priority. It's far too valuable an asset to leave in the hands of my enemies. I had hoped you could take it with surprise and stealth, but that's not going to happen. It's time for a new plan."**

The drake continued to flit through the spines of the barrier range ahead, as agile in the air as a fish in the water. It almost would have looked to be playing, if it wasn't so obvious that it was trying to remain unseen. _Very well, master. What is this new plan?_

"**I've assigned Captain Voren'thal the task of taking Shattrath. But he can't very well lay siege to the city with Tempest Keep around to offer the embattled draenei relief.** **So Prince Kael'thas has been good enough to lend you his entire contingent of dragonhawks. Fifty birds. They are not strong enough to carry more than one or two riders, so mounting an assault with them is out of the question. Instead Voren'thal's Scryers, some of the most powerful magisters in the blood elf army, will be flying them across the portion of the Twisting Nether separating Hellfire Peninsula and Netherstorm. They will rendezvous at a location in south-central Netherstorm, where you will be waiting to meet them."**

Nex felt a chill. Fifty dragonhawks ridden by powerful mages. That was a force to make his Corona's Blaze army seem like children playing with sticks. Neither Stormrage nor Sunstrider would risk such valuable troops in boarding the keep. _What then?_

"**Then you will lead the Scryers in attacking Tempest Keep from below. You will target the structure's dimension drives, and those of its satellites. You will destroy them all concurrently, sending Tempest Keep et al plummeting into the abyss."**

In the distance, the dragon came into view canted at an angle, and Nex spied something on its back. A bundle, perhaps a rider.

Interesting. Riders suggested control, and that was no small feat when it came to dragons. And where there was one dragon rider, there might be others.

The beginnings of an idea came into his mind. Nex saw again the image he had torn from Veilan's thoughts, of the Tempest Keep satellite structure fleeing to safety with all the draenei refugees on board. Even as he pictured it he watched the elusive dragon still flitting through the jagged mountains, becoming more and more certain it carried a rider. _A cunning plan, Master. If they seek protection over the abyss, make their defense their weakness. But as affective as it sounds, it is still wasteful. You'd be committing a large amount of resources to this task, resources that I'm sure you have better uses for, and destroying a prize you wish to claim. What if I could offer a solution that precluded the need for one of your lieutenants to attend to the matter personally? One that offered again the hope of taking Tempest Keep with only the Corona's Blaze fodder?_

Stormrage sounded intrigued and impatient all at once. **"You wish to still complete the task yourself? Or perhaps you merely wish to buy the draenei enough time to escape? What is this "solution" you propose?"**

_The same others have, master. Fly there. Let me at least look into this before you make any decisions._

"**Look into what, Nothing?"**

_Indigenous flyers. Dragons, in fact. Of a sort._ Without bothering to await his master's reply Nex lifted a fist into the air, shooting a bar of purplish flame into the sky. As a signal it did the job fairly well; there were likely creatures in the Zangar Marshes that had seen it.

In the spiny mountains ahead he saw the winged shape bank towards him to investigate, and his smile widened. He showed the image to Stormrage over the link. _Dragons large enough to carry multiple elves. If I can find more I can carry an army to Tempest Keep. And I know its weakness._ Its weakness, that was also its strength. _My people and I can take this place, I assure you._

Stormrage made no response for a moment. Finally, waiting long enough that the dragon had halved the distance between the barrier mountains and Nex's position, he answered. **"One more chance, Nothing. But if you fail me in this as well, I will certainly kill you. And that is no empty threat. Your soul rests in the palm of my ****hand, fragile as an eggshell."**

His master's presence disappeared from the link, and Nex shivered, reaching up to touch a pocket near his breast. Yes, they were eggshell-fragile, weren't they?

. . . . .

The dragon approached swiftly, and Nex was surprised to realize it wasn't as large as he had supposed. A younger specimen, perhaps a drake rather than a full-grown dragon. But the closer it came the more obvious it was that its nature was unlike any dragon he'd ever seen. Nex had been feeling out with his second sight as well as watching closely with his eyes, and the creature approaching was seeming more bizarre by the moment. Its coloring matched none of the dragonflights, instead a sort of semi-translucent purplish color, with wings that seemed to gather the shadows. Indeed its shape was different from a dragon, the wings less wide and not membranous, the tail less sinuous, and it bore no scales.

What his second sight revealed was even stranger. The creature gave off energy similar to the ethereals and mana wyrms, energy he associated with the Twisting Nether. That energy seemed to have been given corporeal form in a way ethereals couldn't manage, considering the drake bore a rider. Some sort of nether drake?

Perhaps. Now that it was close enough for Nex to make out skin color on the rider, he could see that it was a fel orc. In fact, the closer the beast came, the more Nex doubted that it was a dragon at all.

Interesting. Were there dragons native to Outland? He would not have supposed so, but it was not outside the realm of possibility. Orcs came from this world, and while they were not the same as humans, elves, trolls, or any of the other races they bore the same general characteristics. Why should not this world have produced creatures similar to dragons as well?

The drake screeched and banked, circling several dozen yards above him while the fel orc peered down at him suspiciously. There was an insignia on the fel orc's shoulder, what was it? Some sort of crimson circle with an X through it, as if written through blood, and in the center of the image a shape like a dragon's skull.

Dragonmaw clan. He shouldn't have been surprised, considering the mount the orc was riding. After the red dragons broke free of their control they must have begun taming these nether drakes. But where did the drakes come from? Had the Dragonmaws brought back red dragon eggs when they fled Azeroth, and found some way to twist them with fel energies?

No, not fel energies: there was no demonic taint in the drake. A coupling of red drakes to some wyrm drawn from the Twisting Nether?

The black shape fading from view gave a shrill, piercing cry, and started to turn away, flapping back towards the barrier mountains to the south.

Nex smiled. Drakes for the assault on Tempest Keep aside, he was sure his master would be pleased by the inclusion of the Dragonmaw clan to his forces. He sat down cross-legged, focusing his power and his mental energies until he was ready. As the drake swooped away, turning sideways to give its rider one last glimpse of the odd sight Nex provided, Nex lashed out at the fel orc rider's mind.

He had never tried to control the mind of a fel orc, but he had tried to charm demons, and it was much the same. The capability for intelligent thought was not buried so deeply under a haze of bloodlust as the orcs he'd encountered at the pass between Hellfire and Zangar. Perhaps Magtheridon intended the Dragonmaw orcs for more than mere cannon fodder, and had left them intelligent enough to do useful attacks. Still, the drake rider's bloodlust rose to an inferno as soon as his assault struck, and Nex winced slightly. Even diluted, the cursed blood of a pit lord made gaining a foothold in the creature's mind difficult, but thankfully he had a few advantages.

One, as always, was the element of complete surprise. Mental defenses sprang up quickly, but even so surprise and uncertainty tended to blunt them for a short time. Another, in this instance, was that the fel orc was flying sideways on a swift-moving creature. One that was for the moment unruly, since it was trying to force the drake to fly lower towards spikes it clearly did not want to be flying anywhere near. Third was that he knew demon minds, and he knew the minds of humanoids, and could work out the sort of strategies to use to lull the fel orc's unique blending into some semblance of compliance. Just enough intelligence to be useful for more than hurling itself mindlessly into battle, but still tainted with bloodlust and dark emotions surging unchecked through a crazed mind.

The creature had seen him cast that pillar of fire and had decided to flee instead of attacking, so the simplest way to get it to come back would be to entice it with thoughts of slaughter. Through a combination of mental attacks and cunning negotiations he managed to convince the fel orc that it would soon be engaging in obscene slaughter against a weak, pathetic enemy who would weep for mercy. For a race conditioned from youth to believe that size and strength where the measure of a warrior's might, Nex's slender form must have seemed a tempting target.

Using some sort of psychic whip to goad the unfamiliar drake down to hover as close among the spikes as it could, and then into immobility, the fel orc drew a throwing javelin from a case beside it and hurled it at Nex.

Nex had already cast his levitation spell, and as the missile flew he pushed off from the two spines he was wedged between, flipping up and over the javelin and altering his levitation spell to land him on the hovering drake behind the surprised orc. It started to twist, seizing another javelin and preparing to stab him, but Nex darted forward and placed a hand on the orc's forehead.

Then he unleashed a new mental attack, assaulting the part of the fel orc's brain that groveled before superior strength, the part of any animal's psyche that determined whether it was the alpha male or one of the betas. Nex clearly fixed himself in the orc's mind as a leader, one the creature would be mad to challenge. It wasn't as difficult as he'd expected, and when he finished the orc relaxed, turning to face forward once more and slipping the javelin back into its case.

"Land this thing," Nex ordered tersely, pointing at a clear patch of ground not far away. "I will have words with you."

The orc used the whip to goad the dragon down, and once they were both on the ground, the drake curled up in the shade beneath a larger spine and resting, Nex helt out his hand to the orc. "Give me the whip."

The orc saluted and handed it over. "Chieftain," it growled.

Nex accepted the whip and fondled it absently, probing it for its secrets. His lip quickly curled in distaste. Ai, what a nasty thing. Its construction was fairly delicate, but its purpose was hardly so. It was the equivalent of a mental bludgeon, literally tearing at a sentient being's mind until it was nothing more than a dumb beast, ready to obey all commands unthinkingly. Just to be sure Nex probed the drake's mind with his own, and again felt distaste.

Every dragon he had heard of was intelligent. Most were old and wise and quite dangerous. This dragon, unfortunately, was barely capable of responding to his mental prods. He'd seen cows that were more easy to communicate with. Obviously if he wanted the dragon to survive for his purposes he couldn't use the psychic whip any more, which meant the far more tiresome task of guiding the beast's movements directly, mind to mind.

"What is this?" he demanded of the orc, shaking the whip at it. "Where did it come from?"

The orc cringed at his tone. "It's my whip, Chieftain. My dragonslaver's whip. My father had it before me, used it to control Ravirastrasz."

Ravirastrasz. That was a the name of a red dragon, he was certain. So this Dragonmaw orc was second generation to the ones that had enslaved red dragons. And this whip was the tool they had used? His pity for the red dragons and what they'd suffered in the Second War went up a few notches. Nex walked around the brutish orc in its riding leathers. "Your name," he said tersely.

"Garvok, chieftain."

"And how many orcs remain to the Dragonmaw clan?" 

The fel orc's brow furrowed in thought. "Many? Hundreds, I once heard Chieftain Juluhan say."

"And how many drakes?"

The drake rider's brow furrowed again. "Two dozen about, when I left."

Two dozen drakes. That should fit his needs perfectly. Nex smiled. "Tell me of this Juluhan."

The orc fell into a squat, tongue lolling from the heat now that it was no longer flying with wind to cool it. "He's the son of our great chieftain, Zuluhed the Whacked." The orc winced. "But we don't call him that to his face. A few weeks ago Magtheridon, great Lord of Outland, called Zuluhed and all the drake riders we had at the time, six, to join him in his war against the paleskin interlopers. Chieftain Zuluhed left Juluhan in charge of the Dragonmaws in his absence, and tasked him with capturing and training as many drakes as he could."

The orc reached for a waterskin at its waist, taking a drink. "We caught two dozen or so pretty quickly, but since then Juluhan hasn't seemed as interested in catching more. He's had us focus on breaking the ones we've captured and preparing them and their riders for combat."

Interesting. It could be this Juluhan was content with two dozen, or there might be some external reason for limiting the number they captured. Limited supplies, so they could only feed so many? Perhaps they'd captured all the available drakes and could capture no more?

Or perhaps they only had enough of these vile whips to control two dozen.

Whatever the answer, and whatever other answers the orc could give, it could give them as they flew. "Mount up," he ordered. "We're flying back to the Dragonmaws by the swiftest route possible."

The orc cringed again. "But my scouting mission-"

"-is now over. Mount up." Nex strode over to the drake, tearing through its all-but nonexistent mental defenses, and ordered it to prepare to fly. The drake came to its feet, wings tucked and neck bowed to make it easier for them to mount. Nex instructed the drake to obey the orc's instructions without the impetus of the whip and took a seat behind Garvok's riding harness. The orc mounted up, and in moments they were rising swiftly into the air. It was a fairly exhilarating sensation, although Nex didn't have much time to experience it.

The dragonslaver's whip rested in his hands, but he wouldn't willingly use it against any thinking being or even most beasts. With Garvok ensuring that they went the proper way he had time to inspect the whip more closely.

It truly was a nasty thing, but it was no orc brute's toy. While it required no magical talent and very little finesse to wield, it was a very powerful object. And while it seemed fairly new, certainly no more than a few decades old, it had been crafted with an ancient power. Ancient and dark, carrying a taint he knew all too well.

That power held traces of the creatures it had stolen it from, or who had willingly supplied it. He could sense the power of dragons within the thing that had made this whip. Not just any dragons but Aspects, and more than one. And all through it, corrupting and twisting, a mighty demonic power to subvert all the other powers to the user's control.

He'd only ever heard of one artifact with such characteristics. No mere trinket, but one of the most powerful things ever created: the Demon Soul. Neltharion the Earth Warder had created it during the War of the Ancients, more than ten thousand years ago, ostensibly to bind the power of the dragons into one mighty talisman to battle the Burning Legion. He had called it the Dragon Soul. But the Earth Warder had himself been corrupted, madness and evil twisting his mind until he became Deathwing, the Aspect of Death. He had channeled the power of the Dragon Soul through mighty demons he had captured and tormented, and so corrupted the power of all five dragonflights and turned the Dragon Soul into the Demon Soul. His treachery had nearly destroyed his brother Aspect, Malygos the Spellweaver, and destroyed the blue dragonflight.

Rumors had abounded during the Second War that the newly formed Dragonmaw Clan, a group of vile warlocks and necromancers served by the worst brutes the Horde had to offer, had gained control of the red dragonflight's dragons by using the Demon Soul to imprison Alexstrasza the Lifebinder, forcing the red dragons to fight to preserve their beloved matriarch. Nobody knew for certain whether the Dragonmaw had stolen the powerful artifact or had it given to them by Deathwing. It hardly mattered either way, though Nex had heard rumors that the other Aspects had bound the Demon Soul to prevent Deathwing from ever being able to use it again.

In truth, there had never been any confirmation that the Demon Soul was the reason the reds had fought for the orcs. But if this whip was any indication, that rumor was likely true. Likely this dragonslaver's whip had been used on red dragons, to quell them and subdue them, before ever it had teased a nether drake's mind.

Although that was a troublesome point. The Demon Soul was a mighty artifact, but its greatest power lay in its ability to control dragons. The dragonslaver's whips, made with its power, should possess the same limitations.

From his vantage directly touching the nether drake Nex began inspecting it closer, and to his surprise found traces of dragon essence. Not red dragon essence, given the history the Dragonmaw clan had with that dragonflight, but black dragon essence.

The nether drakes were somehow connected to the black dragonflight, kin in some bizarre manner. The traces were faint, but they were enough to allow the whip to exert dominance over the drake's mind.

Nex thought back to the black dragon corpses transfixed on the spines of the Bladed Mountains, then looked down at his whip and past it to the back of the drake he rode.

Just what the hell was going on with the black dragons in Outland?

. . . . .

There was something to be said for flying. Nex had no arguments with running on his own two feet with the benefit of magic to make him virtually tireless and provide partial levitation, but taking seconds to circumvent obstacles that would have taken him minutes or even hours otherwise had its own satisfaction.

It was also very, very fast. They reached the barrier range in about a half hour and the drake, virtually lobotomized but still graceful in flight, found a way over the top of the range in a narrow corridor with spikes all around. Then they were in the Zangar Marshes, and what took them days to travel passed by in hours.

About halfway across the marshes Garvok guided the drake low, pulling out a javelin, and almost before Nex had time to catch sight of the orc's intended target Garvok flung the javelin with surprising accuracy and power, and down below a creature like a fleshy mushroom-bat squealed as it was transfixed through the meat of its body. The drake landed atop the dying creature and began to feed, and the orc leapt off its back and used a heavy stone belt knife to cut off a choice chunk of meat, offering it up to Nex.

"Keep it," Nex said, waving away the proffered morsel. "I don't need to eat."

The fel orc hesitated, as if wondering if it should insist, then shrugged and tore off a bite with its tusks, sinking to a sitting position on the ground beside the feeding drake. It didn't seem to mind the muck.

Nex looked around the wide open ground they'd landed in the midst of, surrounded on all sides by the tall mushroom-trees. "Does the drake need to rest?" he asked.

Garvok grunted, taking its time to chew and swallow. "Soon. She is tired, but we go on until we find a safe place. Broken all around, here."

"We could stop atop a mushroom."

The orc shook his head violently. "Broken ride sporebats, sometimes. And some shapeshift into kaliri. Better to fly on."

"You know the land," Nex said. And that was that.

They crossed the entire Zangar Marshes without needing to take more than a few breaks, and that night they found a narrow ledge to make their camp on, along some mountains Garvok called the "Barrier Hills". The name wasn't particularly helpful to Nex, since it seemed like every range in Outland was an impassable barrier. The orc also warned against fire or noise, claiming some creatures called the arrakoa were in the area and they had monstrous pet birds that could be a danger. Nex didn't overly care, since he had no need of a fire and he certainly wasn't planning on breaking out into song.

Instead he huddled next to the orc along the drake's shimmering flank. "How long have the Dragonmaw captured these drakes?" he asked.

Garvok, who looked as if he'd been falling asleep, stirred. "Not long. Drakes young, see?" The orc shifted and rested a hand on the nether drake's foreleg by the claws. "Claws are short still, and drake not close to full size. If red drake four, maybe five years old. Drakes grow fast, especially if fed well, but we found none older than six or seven."

Nex nodded. That was very young, particularly for dragons. "I saw the black dragons skewered on the spines of the Bladed Mountains. These nether drakes have some kinship to them. What do you know of black dragons in Outland?"

The fel orc shrugged. "Teron Gorefiend, curse his name. He made deal with black dragon leader. Black dragon leader help him steal for Elder Shaman Ner'zhul, Gorefiend let black dragon leader come to Draenor and hide eggs. Gruul Dragonkiller find some of these eggs, protected by black dragons, and he lure dragons down and use grappling hooks to kill, then smash eggs. Not know about nether drakes and black dragons. Not the same. Nether drakes not black dragons."

"I see. What else do you know of them?"

"Not know much," Garvok said with a shrug. "Not see black dragons since Gruul chase black dragon leader away many years ago. Nether drakes young, only see them for few years, only catch them for few months."

"Good to know. Go to sleep. I'll keep watch." The fel orc nodded and rolled up against the drake's flank, leaving Nex to sit and stare out at the view of the Zangar Marshes below. The idea that any gronn, even this Gruul, could chase away Deathwing himself was absurd. Likely Deathwing had other purposes to be about, and Gruul took the Death Aspect's absence as an opportunity to destroy the black drakes invading his territory, then claimed to have driven Deathwing away. Couldn't hurt his reputation at all.

So, black dragons were gone, had been for over a decade, and nether drakes were young, none old enough to have been there when Deathwing left. There was some connection between them. Maybe black drakes really had mated with some creature from the Twisting Nether, creating this ethereal hybrid.

Either way it was a mystery he'd either learn the answers to, or wouldn't. He stood and began climbing up to the peak of the barrier hills, wanting to get a view of Terrokar and the area they'd be flying over soon.

. . . . .

So there was a place on Outland even more unpleasant and desolate than Hellfire Peninsula. Fantastic.

The nearer they'd approached Shadowmoon Valley while flying over Terrokar, the more he'd felt it. They were coming ever closer the the place where Ner'zhul had opened the portals and torn Azeroth apart. He could feel the fel energy permeating the air like a nauseating taint.

That morning they'd crossed the mountainous border between Terrokar and Shadowmoon. These were some of the highest mountains he'd yet seen, perhaps testament to the incredible collision when the Shadowmoon continent struck the Terrokar continent. There was a path through it, twisted and treacherous, that looked as if it had been carved with demonic hands and using demonic tools such as fel reavers and wrath constructs. The remnants of that demonic army still littered the path, with blood elf and naga banners planted at the ruined shells of demonic outposts Illidan had wrested from Magtheridon.

Garvok had shunned that path, warning that flying enemy creatures roamed it. Nex could only assume those were dragonhawks. He'd been surprised when the orc drake rider had boasted that thus far the Dragonmaw had remained undiscovered, using their superior location and drake sentries to bring down any dragonhawk scouts before their riders were aware of the danger. It suited his purpose, however: better the Dragonmaw had no contact with Illidan or his elves just yet. It would make his own plans for the fel orc clan all the easier.

So instead of taking that path that led from Terrokar into the Valley, they circled wide around it, going further south and east. There they had to again circle wide, around another nest of the arrakoa Garvok warned him of. So they actually ended up flying out over the abyss, and crossing the gap between Terrokar and Shadowmoon with a thousand mile drop beneath them and a massive mountain range to their left, swarming with the distant specks of monstrous birds patrolling the area.

After what seemed an eternity of flying with only the nether drake's stamina between them and death, they'd finally crossed into Shadowmoon Valley.

It was ghastly. In Hellfire the plant and animal life may have died due to lack of water, but here the plants and animals lived on. And somehow it was even worse. The forces that had ripped Draenor apart had torn this land asunder as well, corrupting it in the process so vile fel green lava spurted from the ground and pooled, sending up a stink and poisoning the ground around it. Felboars even more devolved than their Hellfire cousins roamed, along with scrawny salamander-like creatures that swam through the lava and belched flames. He saw creatures like chimeras from hell gliding over the expanses, swooping down to savagely bring down creatures dying of corruption.

As surprising, or perhaps not surprising at all, the unholy energies unleashed here had stirred the elements into a frenzy. He saw elementals of earth and flame rampaging where lava gouted from the earth, and closer to the ledge air and nether elementals rode the winds where the lava flowed from the continent into the endless abyss.

Nex took it all in with a sort of grim resignation, mostly just glad they flew high above the nightmare landscape, away from its obvious and likely hidden dangers. As the mountains fell away he started to guide the drake farther inland, but Garvok wrestled with him for the reins, trying to keep the drake on its course following the continent's edge. "Nothing good inland," the fel orc warned.

Nex resisted for a moment, then relented and kept the drake on its course. "As you wish. I assume this will take us to your fortress by the quickest route?"

"Yes, master. The Dragonmaw Fortress is on the edge of the continent, far to the south and east. It's surrounded by mountains, and angry elementals and rockflayers guard its entrance. The only sure way to reach it is by air, and our drake riders and hunting parties are always watching."

"Good." Nex turned his head to the left, inland. He could feel the fel forces that tormented this land stronger in that direction. He could see, as well, a massive volcano in the distance, belching up fire and ash and green lava plumes. That was likely the center place of Ner'zhul's foolish mistake. Even so long after the cataclysm the remnant of the forces that had ripped this world apart were powerful. He tried to envision wielding such forces, and couldn't. It must have felt incredible to hold such power. "What do you know of Ner'zhul and the cataclysm that tore Draenor apart?" he asked the orc.

Garvok shuddered. "Know nothing, master. Ner'zhul gone. Faithful followers among the Stormreavers and Bleeding Hollow and Twilight's Hammer gone, abandoned us while Draenor ripped itself apart. Evil things made an altar to the shadows where Gorefiend stood, but the Death Knight's body was broken by humans and his soul went far away. We hope it does not return."

Interesting. Gorefiend must have been terrible indeed if a clan of mad fel orcs brazen enough to enslave dragons feared him. But in the end the information was trivial, since they weren't going inland. "How long until we reach the fortress?"

"Many hours yet, master. Do you wish to sleep until we arrive?"

"I have no need of sleep. But if you will fly the drake I have other things to draw my attention." Garvok nodded, and Nex left the orc to its devices and drew out the dragonslaver's whip, taking the opportunity to study it more deeply.

He wasn't sure exactly what he was going to do once he reached the Dragonmaw Fortress, but he had to convince this Chieftain Juluhan to give him the drakes he needed. One way or another.

. . . . .

"Are we flying to the Black Temple?" Nex asked suspiciously as Garvok guided the drake down lower into the cover of the mountains.

After several hours of flying they'd come inland through a pass between the tall mountains fronting the abyss, and the Black Temple was directly ahead. At least, a massive structure with flying specs in the distance and demonic runes scrawled all over it was in the distance. Though the place was technically held by his allies, Nex had no desire to go there.

The orc shuddered. "Not Black Temple. Dragonmaw Fortress close, but farther south and east. Hidden in a little valley with mountains all around, and drake riders to capture prying enemy fliers and angry elementals and rock-"

"-rockflayers to guard the approach by ground. Yes, you already said that."

The orc sounded affronted. "You ask, I answer."

Sure enough, not far through the pass it ended, opening up into a wide ravine studded with clusters of crystal jutting up out of the ground. At the end of the ravine a very thick cluster blocked it off entirely. Garvok turned the drake east along the ravine. Below Nex could see elementals roaming the land, and by the crystal clusters creatures he assumed were rockflayers cut away at the crystal with forelimbs like those of a preying mantis, devouring it in chunks.

In the distance he saw Dragonmaw Fortress, an unexceptional orc base with a typical stronghold on a ledge, surrounded by a wall and watchtowers below. And even farther along the ravine, which Garvok identified as Netherwing Fields, he caught a glimpse of a few specks circling. Drakes, though whether they were wild or tamed he had no way of knowing.

Garvok sawed at the reins, making a strange clicking noise, and the drake lurched downwards, wings flapping frantically until they were skimming just a dozen or so feet over the ground, flying faster than they ever had before. "This part dangerous," Garvok warned. "No want elf birds to see us, or wild nether drakes."

Within a few more moments they were darting between large crystal clusters, making for the massive gates that were the only entrance by ground to the massive fortress. He caught sight of crude ballistae and orcs with spears manning fortified emplacements on ledges and in the ridges surrounding the fortress, so maybe those gates were the only safe entrance by air as well.

"Stop here a moment," Nex said. "I want to make some preparations." Garvok glared at him in confusion, but brought the drake to the ground, looking around warily for rockflayers and elementals. Nex leapt off, bringing out his dimensional pocket portal and reaching inside to withdraw the helmet, armplates, bracers, gauntlets, legplates, greaves, and boots of his armor set. While traveling the weight had proven an annoyance, and he had kept only the breastplate. He put all the armor on, then shoved his cloak into his pack. It was ragged and ugly, and he wanted to make a good impression.

Last of all he put more power into his demon skin, making his pale skin appear even paler and slightly scaly, and his brown hair bleed to pure black. His second sight made his eyes appear to be pools of blackness, and when he drew upon his reserves and held the power at the ready dull orange highlights appeared among his hair, making it appear as if it would burst into flames at any moment. Fiery red pinpoints like tiny flames burning appeared in the depths of his eyes. He looked about as impressive and intimidating as he could manage.

He tossed his pack into the dimensional pocket, then retrieved the cloth and returned it to its box in his cloak's pocket. When he turned around Garvok was staring at him in awe. "You demon?" it asked. "Pretend to be human?"

"No. I'm a human pretending to be a demon. Let's go."

They took to the air again for a short hop, landing at the gates. Garvok raised a warhorn and let loose a blast, and a moment later the massive gates cracked open, just enough for the drake to squeeze through. "What we do now, Chieftain?" Garvok asked.

"I need to see Juluhan immediately."

The fel orc nodded, and as half a dozen more fel orcs with whips (regular whips, not the vile dragonslaver's whips) emerged, he slid off the drake, motioning for Nex to follow.

"What this human that look like demon doing here?" the leader of the half-dozen orcs demanded, idly shaking his whip as if to loosen it in preparation for a lash.

"He prisoner to see Juluhan," Garvok said, pulling the javelin case off the drake's back and slinging it over his shoulder. "Important prisoner. Juluhan want to see."

The orcs glared at Nex suspiciously. Considering Nex was unarmed and tiny by orc standards, he wasn't particularly threatening. But then again, he was wearing pristine armor and looked vaguely demonic. "How important?" the fel orc leader demanded.

Nex answered before Garvok could. "My master is the one who overthrew Magtheridon. I'm here on his behalf."

The orcs snarled, even Garvok. "No one overthrow Lord of Outland," the orc argued. "News would come."

Nex fixed the orc with a calm gaze. "I'm the news, then. If Juluhan doesn't already know, he'll want to."

The orcs muttered among themselves for a moment, then their leader pointed at Garvok. "You take. If Juluhan angry, he kill you."

Garvok nodded and led Nex past the irate group of gatekeepers. Once they were out of earshot Nex quickened his pace to walk beside the drake rider. "In the future you will refer to me as an emissary, not a prisoner."

"Yes, Chieftain." The fel orc hesitated. "Magtheridon really gone? Why his blood still in me, then?"

Nex shrugged. "My master must have taken Magtheridon captive rather than killing him. A mercy the pit lord likely does not deserve."

To the left there was a huge open space between the wall and the cliff the main stronghold was perched atop. Aside from a cluster of hovels hard up against the cliff face the space was fenced off, and within it seven nether drakes stood, tethered to the ground and with their wings bound to their bodies. "New drakes?" Nex asked, pointing them out to his guide.

Garvok nodded. "They remain wild and unbroken. Unsafe to ride. It will take more training before they can be used."

Nex scowled, thinking of the whip in his pack. Training. Stripping away their higher functions and turning them into dumb beasts. Seeing such a thing happen to fel orcs was bad enough, but the orcs had willingly chosen their fate. Not so with the drakes.

"Come," his guide said, pointing to a steep ramp that looped up a zigzag path and came out behind the fortress, "Juluhan will know to expect you."

"How?" The orc pointed up, and Nex looked to see an Eye of Kilrogg hovering there, watching. "Ah." It was one of the crude eyes the ogres favored, that required sacrificing it permanently to make it a spying device. Some warlock among the Dragonmaw had only one eye. Nex inclined his head to the Eye and followed Garvok up the ramp, past pairs of sentries stationed every hundred or so feet. Every now and again a nether drake rider swooped overhead, drake screeching shrilly.

He was weaponless, moving deeper and deeper into what was potentially enemy territory; all things considered, escape was probably not going to be an option.

At the top of the path the stronghold had one entrance, solid and with a heavy iron-studded door on the outer end, going through a short hallway to a equally heavy inner door. As with other orc strongholds he'd seen or heard described, just inside the inner door a hallway opened up to the left and right, slightly curved. It was perfectly circular and would run all the way around the stronghold. On the outer side of the hallway dozens of doors closely spaced marked the living quarters of grunts, as well as armories, butteries, and the like. But either direction he turned from the entrance, going a quarter of the way around the circle would take him to a large archway that led him into the center of the stronghold, a huge hall that served as a combination feasting room and throne room.

The guards at the entrance to the stronghold let them through without a word, testament to the foreknowledge Juluhan had of their coming. Garvok said nothing as they were escorted around to the huge archway that led to the throne room. The fel orc looked somewhat uneasy.

The noise and stink struck him before they even reached the archway, and when he stepped into it he saw that along the circular walls of the throne room dozens of orcs were packed along tables, feasting and reveling and shouting cheers and jeers towards the center of the room, which was a pit two feet lower than the rest of the room, where two massive orcs, one green and one brown, wearing nothing but loincloths, fought each other with hand axes. Considering the wounds that covered both of them, and the frenzy of the spectators, Nex could only assume the fight was to the death.

At the head of the room, equidistant from both entry arches, a massive throne adorned with skulls and hides loomed, the person sitting atop it presiding over the festivities. Juluhan, he presumed. If so, the interim Chieftain of the Dragonmaw clan was a shriveled, wizened figure in the blood-painted robes of a warlock, tearing ravenously at the haunch of a fel boar and periodically waving the thing like a scepter as he cheered the fighting between the two untainted orcs. The tiny red orc had only one eye, he saw, the other covered with an eyepatch, and he wondered if the Kilrogg's Eye he'd seen was actually Juluhan's. If so he couldn't fault the fool for his dedication to the art.

Nex leaned closer to Garvok's ear, speaking loud over the din. "It looks like we interrupted a party," he observed.

The drake rider laughed, staring at the fighting orcs. Red was starting to creep into his eyes, bloodlust rising in him. "We would be lucky to come and not find a party. Juluhan is not popular, so he bribes Magtheridon's favorites with food and spectacle. Some say he as mad as Chieftain Zuluhed, but I don't think that possible."

Magtheridon's favorites, eh? Nex looked closer at the spectators. They were all massive fel orcs, immense, and while the red of bloodlust glazed their eyes they weren't openly trying to tear each other apart the way most fel orcs would. So these ones were Magtheridon's leaders, the blood oath in them light enough to keep their minds intact. He supposed he couldn't expect all fel orcs to be ravenous fodder ready to tear the throats out of anything they encounter. Still, he was surprised by how many of the fel orcs still had their wits. Likely taming and riding the nether drakes required too much intelligence to trust it to mindless brutes.

The noise became deafening, and Nex whipped his head back to the fighting in the center in time to see the brown orc duck a clumsy slash from the green orc's hand axe, then lurch forward and swing his own hand axe at his opponent's leg. The green orc went down in a gout of blood, bellowing in pain, and the brown orc came to his feet, letting the hand axe fall to his side. Something in the gladiator's eyes told Nex that he wished he could turn his axe on his captors, rather than on the helpless green orc.

The noise died down as Juluhan came to his feet, waving his haunch of helboar for silence. "Why do you stop, Garen?" the wizened fel orc demanded.

The brown orc panted for a moment, seeming barely able to stay on his feet, let alone answer. Finally he whispered. "Yovan is beaten. I wait the crowd's decision on whether his fighting display has earned him the right to live."

Fel orcs all around the room roared with laughter, which again cut off at a curt gesture from Juluhan. "You would try to cling to the old ways, mag'har? Do you not see that the sky affords us a view of the nether, rather than the warm clouds of the old days? Do you not see the world broken, an endless drop awaiting those who would try to step off the island that imprisons them? Did you not feel Draenor rip apart in the throes of the Traitor's power?" Juluhan spat, then raised his haunch to point at Yovan, who was desperately trying to staunch the blood gushing from his thigh. "Draenor is dead, as are the old ways. Kill your friend or you both die."

Garen stood tall. "Then I die alongside him, with honor. Ogar kanet! Honor in death!"

The fel orc spectators jeered and booed, and Juluhan scowled, obviously displeased. He motioned, and two massive orcs flanking his throne strode forward, lifting massive cudgels. "Then see how honorable death is, mag'har."

Garen raised his axe in preparation to defend himself, stepping over to stand protectively between Yovan and the fel orcs coming to execute them. The onlookers laughed and jeered some more, and the two massive fel orc brutes lunged forward, cudgels swinging.

There was no honor in the way the fel orcs fought. One used his weapon to knock aside Garen's handaxe while the other stepped in and swung his cudgel at the brown orc's head. Garen tried to block the blow with his free hand, and above the cheers and noise Nex could clearly hear the _crack_ of bone snapping as the brown orc flipped through the air, landing atop Yovan with a scream. The two executioners moved in, swinging their cudgels down at their victims with mindless ferocity.

Lip curled in distaste, Nex stepped out into the hallway, out of sight of the grisly scene. He'd seen all he needed to of the Dragonmaw clan. Stormrage would be pleased to have such mindless brutality under his command, as well as the drakes they would bring him. For his part, the sooner Nex could get the drakes he needed and be gone, the better.

Inside the feasting hall the sounds died down to a more general din, and Nex heard Juluhan's voice raised once more. "Where is the human?" he roared. "Where did he go?"

Nex calmly stepped back into the archway, and at a shove from the fel orc guards who'd escorted him here walked out into the center of the room, stepping down into the "arena" pit. Garvok walked along behind him, visibly shaking now. The two brutes were dragging the bodies of the green and brown orcs out through the other archway, and Nex stepped into the pool of blood their deaths had left, in the exact center of the pit, and turned to face Juluhan sitting on his throne. "Greetings, Chieftain of the Dragonmaw. In the name of Illidan Stormrage, Lord of Outland, I offer the hand of friendship."

The Dragonmaw chieftain peered at him, fidgeting in his throne as if at any moment he would lurch to his feet and begin a mad caper. As mad as his father, Garvok had called him, and he did indeed seem mad. "You come to me escorted by one of my own. But don't you realize that I can see? I, Juluhan the Drake Tamer, who captures more nether drakes than my father ever did! Do you not think I can see your fingers on my drake rider's mind?"

The wizened figure raised his helboar haunch scepter, and one of the brutes guarding him took up a spear leaning against the wall. With a quick step and a hop forward he flung his spear with full force at Garvok. The surprised drake rider tried to dodge but the attack was too unexpected, and the spear took him full in the throat. Garvok fell with a gurgling scream, thrashing in his dying throes.

Nex glanced down at his dead guide, then met Juluhan's eyes once more and held them. "I would have given him back."

Dead silence fell over the chamber. The Dragonmaw sycophants, who'd been hooting at their dying comrade, stared at him in disbelief. Then the silence was broken by Juluhan, who pushed to his feet and began giggling manically. "I would have given him back," he repeated with delight. "Pay me with my own coin, fight me with my own champion, earn my goodwill by returning what was stolen! Hah! I didn't know humans possessed a sense of humor!"

Nex wasn't sure how to feel about a madman finding his words amusing. "Will you hear my master's offer, Chieftain Juluhan? He offers rich reward for all who serve him."

Juluhan sank back onto his throne. "I don't treat with humans," he said simply. "Not even human warlocks." He lifted his helboar haunch scepter again. "Korgal, see what this human wants." A short ways down the table from Juluhan's throne a fel orc rose, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. And rose. And rose.

The orc was massive, possibly one of the largest Nex had ever seen. He would have guessed the creature had a trace of ogre or even gronn blood in it, but there were no hints of those ancestries in his features. It was just a big, muscled, impressive fel orc.

"The human's master claims he's Lord of all Draenor!" the brute cried, strutting forward with his chest jutted out. "But this is the one he sends to treat with us? This puny thing, small even for a human, closer in size to one of their striplings."

Nex remained calm as the creature approached. "Some would call me a stripling, yes," he answered.

Korgal laughed in his face. "But this runt, this weakling, is the one sent to negotiate with the Dragonmaw! His master Illidan must be pathetic indeed." The orc got right in his face, leaning over him and stretching to his full impressive height, nearly eight feet. "So tell me, tiny human, why should the mighty Juluhan treat with one such as you?"

Nex stared up at the savage features, half again higher than he stood at his tallest, though he was slouching at the moment to make the disparity even more pronounced. Looming was an impressive intimidation stance. Stand to your tallest and lean forward over them, making yourself look and feel bigger, and them smaller. All creatures held a natural fear for those larger than them, and a tendency to cower when confronted in such a way.

Unfortunately it was a terrible battle stance. There was a reason for the saying "the bigger they are, the harder they fall". Straining for every inch of height, leaning forward on the balls of your feet, your balance was practically nonexistent, and your center of gravity almost a foot higher than usual and farther forward than the support your feet provided.

The Dragonmaw around the edges of the circular chamber were jeering at him, yelling taunts, and spurred by his fellows the brute confronting him laughed in his face once more, slaver dripping down onto Nex's cheeks. "Look at the pathetic thing, too frightened to even answer. And this is-"

Nex dropped straight downwards and twisted, kicking one leg out to sweep the massive orc's feet out from under him. Korgal's words cut off in a strangled grunt as he began to fall, but Nex wasn't finished. He planted his kicking foot into the ground to halt its sweep, then reversed its direction back the other way, lifting it in a high arc and then slamming it down so right as the orc hit the ground Nex's plate boot, weighted with greave and legplate, struck the massive creature in the chest with a sickening _crunch_. He'd aimed to hit right on the orc's sternum, and his aim had been perfect.

_For Garen_, Nex thought as the orc made a strangled animal noise, the noise of a creature whose lungs no longer work as they should, and whose mind has fled from rational thought into that primal place where simply struggling to survive is all it can manage.

He had to give Korgal one thing, though. That blow would have killed a lesser orc, but the brute's muscles were so thick across his chest that it had probably done no more than broken a few ribs and punctured the organs those ribs protected. He would probably still die, but it wouldn't be fast.

Perfectly balanced on one leg Nex straightened, resuming his slouching stance. The jeers of the onlooking orcs had juddered into stunned silence, and all but Juluhan were staring at him in disbelief. Juluhan was watching him with a slightly feverish grin, sweat beading on his wrinkled brow. Ignoring the suffering orc at his feet, Nex faced the Dragonmaw Chieftain. "My master extends an offer of blood to be shed in the future. Magtheridon has been toppled from his throne, and Stormrage stands as Lord of Outland. Come to him, and you will find glorious victory under his banner."

Juluhan licked his lips. "Korgal, your services are no longer required as an intermediary. If my champion is such a pathetic weakling as to go down with one blow, I will have to speak with the human personally." The Dragonmaw Chieftain grabbed the fel orc sitting to his direct right, another warlock, by the hair. The orc grunted in surprise, beginning to struggle before thinking better of it. When Juluhan dragged him out of his chair the warlock went willingly, and was even so polite as to sprawl to the ground when Juluhan shoved him away.

Juluhan beckoned to him. "Come, human, sit at my right hand. I felt Magtheridon's power wane, the blood oath becoming tenuous, but I hadn't realized he was defeated. Tell me of this Illidan Stormrage who can overpower a pit lord, who sends me a scrawny human who can defeat my champion in one blow."

Nex hesitated, then stepped over Korgal and walked around the table to the place he'd been offered.

Well, that had gone much better than he'd expected.


	18. The Broodmother

Woo. This chapter turned out to be much longer than I'd expected. I practically had it finished last week and thought I just had a few more finishing touches to do, and lo and behold I end up almost doubling its length.

Just wanted to give a thanks to all the anonymous reviewers. I usually try to reply to reviews and at least say thanks, but it's hard when the review is anon :/. So thanks guys for taking the time to read and review, and hope you keep on reading.

NT

Chapter Seventeen

The Broodmother

The noise pounded in his ears, a din that seemed to have physical presence, pressing on him as he sat, straight-backed, in the seat he'd been given. The orcs seemed to have forgotten him in their celebrating, deliberately or otherwise, and were eating and drinking with scarcely any manners at all.

Across the way two brutes were throwing axes at each other, making a game of seeing if they could dodge or catch the spinning blades. One already had a deep cut on his shoulder and the other had lost two fingers, but they didn't seem to notice or care as their game continued.

At a lower table, where lower ranking orcs sat, a brawl broke out between two of the revelers, moving into the pit where both laid into each other with their fists to the cheers and laughter of the spectators.

"They're fierce, are they not?"

Nex glanced over to where Juluhan sat, gnawing on his haunch of helboar in one hand and quaffing some sort of mead in the other. "Very fierce. The Dragonmaw has always had a reputation for reckless bravery."

The wizened chieftain bared his tusks in what might have been a smile. "My champion made a poor showing, emissary. He was always arrogant and unwary. I assure you in battle we will prove my clan's superiority over all your master's minions."

Nex very much doubted that, but there was no reason to say so. "My master appreciates strength. He comes as a conquerer, but those who are skilled in war can rise high in his armies."

Juluhan laughed and ripped into his meat, sending grease and spittle flying. "You will find that no orcs are mightier than the Dragonmaw, human."

"I know this well," Nex said. "During the Second War the Dragonmaw were the bane of Azeroth, feared by all. Only you were mighty enough to tame the red dragons and ride them into battle." _Or insane __enough._

His words seemed to please the warlock. "Just so. And with them we wreaked devastation from Stormwind to Lordaeron." The orc motioned to the roast helboar on the table before them. "You do not eat, human. Come, celebrate. The havismead is very fine, plundered from the Bloodmaul ogre brewmasters."

"I do not eat or drink," Nex replied. "But the offer is well received."

Juluhan glanced at him with shrewd eyes. "Do you not? A dangerous game that is, but not without rewards. Very well then, Felstrengthened. But I hope you will not complain if I enjoy myself. It is my celebration, after all."

"I would not be so churlish." Nex settled back in his seat, and Juluhan laughed and continued his feasting.

Some hours later, interminable deafening hours of surprising unpleasantness given the festive atmosphere, Juluhan finally caught at his shoulder, lurching drunkenly. "The party's winding down," the orc slurred. "Come, let's go someplace private and negotiate."

Nex couldn't see any signs of the revelry slackening, but he nodded. "As you wish." He followed the wizened chieftain out of the hall, turning to go deeper into the stronghold.

At the very back of the circular hall, opposite its entrance, the wall opened up to a wide balcony that afforded a nice view of the fortress below and most of Netherwing Fields. He even caught a glimpse in the distance of the rear wall of the Black Temple, surrounded by impassable ridges from this direction.

As he followed Juluhan through the archway leading to the balcony he caught hints of movement to either side, his second sight warning him just as the Dragonmaw Chieftain spun around. "For Magtheridon, true Lord of Outland!" Juluhan cried as he raised his fist and whipped it forward, sending out a coil of deathly energy. Nex replied by throwing up his own hand protectively and calling out the word of power that would shield him.

It didn't help against the death coil, of course. While the shield protected him from the harm the spell provided, he still found himself reeling in horror, mind temporarily overcome by shadowy energy. In that period of time he felt power gathering all around him, and a dozen blue ribbons of energy arced out to meet him, draining his reserves.

It was a challenge, apparently. Most shadowcasters dealt with each other in much the same way they dealt with demons: show overwhelming superiority, bind them, and never give any slack. More than one warlock had perished to an "ally" over such foolishness.

He shouldn't have been surprised, although he had cause to be concerned. Juluhan was powerful in his own right, and he had a dozen Dragonmaw warlocks on his side. Each single mana drain spell was inconsequential, but together the twelve enemies would drain his mana within several seconds. The effects of the death coil faded in time for Nex to throw up a ward protecting his mind against an attack of magical fear. The ward slid into place just as Juluhan finished calling out the incantation for a spell of that sort, and Nex felt it hit his mind and skitter away like a drop of water on a scalding stone.

Juluhan's eyes widened, but before he could do anything else Nex summoned his remaining reserves and drew the fury of the shadows into his hands. He fell to his knees and slammed the spell into the ground. The shockwave rolled out over the warlocks circling him, leaving their flesh untouched but stunning their minds. As one they slumped down, eyes sightless. They would not be that way for long, but it was long enough.

"My turn," Nex breathed, and seized the power within the Illidari stone.

It rushed into him in a flood, filling his mind in a torrent of ecstasy, and he could feel the changes it was working on his body. The beginnings of the demonic metamorphosis that Saire had spoken of. Now that he knew of its existence he could feel the change calling to him, trying to inveigle its way to fruition through the power he held. It would take but a fraction of that power and a conscious effort to complete the change, and he would have whatever power-and consequences-such a metamorphosis offered.

He shrugged the temptation away, controlling the chaotic power of the stone tightly. "Fools," he whispered as the reeling fel orcs gradually came to themselves. It took less time than it otherwise would have, for these acolytes of shadow. "My master saw fit to give me power. Did your captured and defeated Magtheridon do the same for you?"

Juluhan staggered to his feet, but before he could do any more than that Nex threw out his hand, silencing the orc with a gesture. Going toe to toe with the wizened Dragonmaw Chieftain would have been difficult without the stone, but with it he managed to quell the brute. Then he threw both hands out in either direction and spun 180 degrees, unleashing more of the power raging within him. Twelve orc tongues clove to the roofs of their mouths, silencing them. One of the warlocks squealed and ran for the door, and Nex caught him in a levitate spell, lifting him squirming and helpless from the floor. Other orcs tried to flee, and one by one Nex caught them in a similar fashion, until only Juluhan remained free, still kneeling where he'd fallen to the shadowfury spell.

Trying to compose himself against the raging torrent still within him, Nex looked around the circle of warlocks. Well, wasn't this an interesting dilemma? Deep within a stronghold of his enemies, surrounded by orcs who wished to kill him. And the leaders of those orcs temporarily in his control.

The nature of the Illidari stone's tapped reserves was unstable; it wasn't meant to be held for long. He had perhaps another minute or so before it wriggled out of his grasp and dissipated. At that time he'd be powerless, drained of his reserves, only a matter of time until the warlocks broke free. Juluhan himself would break free almost as soon as he was defenseless, likely enough.

If he killed them he'd make himself an enemy of the Dragonmaw, and he'd be hard-pressed to escape alive. If he drained them he could fill his reserves once more and burn away the rest, but that was the same as killing them, really, and it would only be a matter of time before they either escaped and sent for help, or the Dragonmaw came sniffing around wondering where their chieftain had disappeared to. He seemed to have three options: kill them and probably die, not kill them and probably die, or run and probably die.

Unless... he had the power now. Perhaps there was a way he could use it.

Nex had no knowledge of the construction of linkstones, so he had to use what he had. Striding forward he loomed over Juluhan, drawing out the Illidari stone. "Link yourself to me through the Illidari stone," he snarled. "Submit to my will, or you will never leave this room alive." Juluhan snarled at him, and Nex sent a tendril of power lashing at the fel orc's mind. "Submit, and reap my master's rewards, or die. Since I first arrived those have been the only two choices available to you. You've only been forced to the decision sooner than anticipated. Red eyes smouldering with hate, Juluhan finally nodded. Nex released his silence spell. "Let's hear it, then. For the Illidari."

The Chieftain of the Dragonmaw clan spat to clear his mouth. "I, Juluhan Dragon Tamer, swear my fealty to Illidan Stormrage. Lok'tar Illidari!"

Nex smiled. As long as Juluhan remained chieftain, and in power, the Dragonmaw clan and these twelve warlock sycophants would be powerless to act against him. Of course words were cheap. "Good. Open your mind to me." Nex reached into the fel orc's head, using the same spell Stormrage had used on him so long ago, to tear away part of the warlock's soul and fill the void with the Illidari stone.

He'd hoped that such a link would work for him as his did for Stormrage, but instead he felt a ribbon of Juluhan's power flow through the stone and off in the direction of Stormrage and the Black Temple.

In the distance he felt Stormrage's attention turn to him in sudden wrath. **"What is this, human?"**

_A gift, master. The leader of the Dragonmaw, a powerful warlock styling himself Juluhan the Dragon Tamer._

Surprise and annoyance rushed over him through the link. **"You toy with powers you don't understand, mortal. This reckless idea of yours could have spelled the destruction of both of your souls, and I wouldn't have even been aware until you were gone." **A long silence followed, and then Stormrage continued. **"Break the stone in half and give one of the halves to this orc you speak of. I shall have a bit of work to do correcting your mistake, and in the end your remaining half might not be powerful enough to withstand the flow of energy you drew from me previously. That is on you."**

Nex did as instructed, breaking the stone in half. For an instant it responded to his efforts about as he would have expected for trying to split solid rock with his bare hands, and then a fracture opened along the middle, a perfect circle, and the thing broke into two pieces, the point of fracture as perfectly smooth as the rest of it. Oddly enough, at the moment of fracture he felt his link to Stormrage disappear, leaving behind an empty hole. The shadows he was drawing to restore his reserves went suddenly from a flow to a torrent. Odder still, the feel of his reserves expanded, as if their capacity had doubled. Then his link to his master snapped back into place, and the flow of shadows into him receded once more, his reservoir shrinking back to its usual level.

Nex stared down at the two stones. What the hell had that been?

Juluhan gurgled, and Nex saw that his face was paling to a wan green. Dying. Hurriedly he shoved one of the Illidari stone's halves into Juluhan's unresponsive palm, and the fel orc stiffened. Then he threw back his head and screamed.

It seemed Stormrage was acquainting himself with his new minion.

While Juluhan squirmed Nex turned to the twelve warlocks, who were looking at him with expressions ranging from horror to abject terror. "I believe you have something of mine," he said. Answering their uncomprehending looks he pinned one with a mana drain spell, taking back the portion of his reserves the fool had taken from him. He kindly left the creature its own reserves when he moved on to the next.

By the time he had drained all twelve of his power his head was pounding slightly, testament to the efforts he had just made, and though his reserves were restored he was in no condition to draw shadows until he had time to enter his regenerative trance.

Doing so at the moment, of course, would be as good as suicide, so he drew an oath of abeyance from Juluhan's warlock cronies and dismissed them, then seated himself cross-legged in front of the twitching orc, waiting patiently for his master to finish with him.

The latent flow of power from the Illidari stone had abated somewhat from what it was previously. Perhaps a five percent loss. Nex was willing to endure that, if necessary. Seeing what the effect would be on the total power the stone could hold would have to wait a week until the thing recharged.

After a short wait Juluhan abruptly gave a strangled gasp and surged to his feet. Then, seeing Nex, fell back a few paces, gazing at him warily.

Nex leisurely stood. "Well, now that that's out of the way let's chat."

The Dragonmaw Chieftain nodded slowly. "Yes, talk. Master Illidan told me I was to listen to you. I retain the right to decide what is in the best interests of Dragonmaw Clan and my new master, however."

Nex frowned. "What the hell does that mean?" he demanded.

Juluhan hesitated. "It means that I must, ah, present Master Illidan with nether drake mounts. He suggested that if you, too, have a need for those mounts you must bargain with me for them."

Nex resisted the urge to curse. _Wonderful. I give Stormrage a gift, and the bastard returns it broken._ It made no sense for Stormrage to take away the tools he needed to do the job Stormrage wanted him to do.

Unless, of course, there was something more to it. "You have two dozen drakes at the moment, correct?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Twenty-five," Juluhan responded.

"I'm going to go out on a limb, here. Before you ordered him skewered, Garvok told me that you haven't captured any more for a while, even though you possess the means to do so."

The fel orc's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he answered slowly.

"You no longer possess the Demon Soul."

"Yes," Juluhan hissed, face starting to redden.

"And I imagine you only have twenty-five dragonslaver's whips, don't you? And without them trying to tame a drake is all but impossible."

The wizened orc's fists clenched. "Yes."

"So you're limited in the number of drakes you can tame, and I imagine Stormrage wants all twenty-five of the ones you currently have."

With surprising suddenness, probably because the orc was stark raving mad, Juluhan's features twisted from anger to triumph. "Yes."

Nex had a feeling he knew Stormrage's game. "So if I want to use any of your drakes, I'm going to have to find a way to provide you with more to give Stormrage," he guessed.

The fel orc bared his fangs at him. "The Master suggested you might be useful in that regard."

Now Nex did curse. Great. How the hell was he supposed to tame nether drakes? Dragons were notoriously the most difficult creatures to break, even more so than other sentient races.

Although... there was _one_ way to get dragons to fight on your side without needing to tame them. And the Dragonmaw had already managed it once.

Perhaps he could work this. Nex smiled thinly. "I'm going to need to visit the nether drake feeding grounds."

. . . . .

The feeding grounds were at the end of Netherwing Fields, on the eastern edge of the continent. Farther east, almost out of sight, he could see an island floating above the abyss from which the nether drakes issued.

It was not hard to see why they preferred this area for hunting. Here by the edge of the fields the crystals glowed a bit brighter than deeper within the fields, and rockflayers seemed to prefer these brighter ones. They congregated heavily around the ones closest to the edge, warily emerging from shallow burrows dug into the rock or ledges along the cliffs to either side that had been deepened. Eyes to the sky, they would rush to the nearest crystal cluster, the bladelike extensions that replaced their forearms hacking furiously to chip away some chunks, which they would quickly devour and before rushing back to safety. It seemed the creatures had some intelligence, at least enough to know death from above.

Every now and again a wild nether drake would swoop down towards the holes, but it was rare for them to snatch up a rockflayer. In the hour he'd been watching he'd seen only one successful drake, and that one had swooped at a hole and gotten lucky enough to reach it just as its prey emerged.

The drakes, much like the rockflayers they hunted, seemed wary about coming to low to the ground or actually landing to rest. If they grew bored or weary they banked eastwards towards that massive floating island. Their nest?

Nex looked up at the circling drakes. "They're wary of landing," he observed.

Juluhan bared his fangs in what might have been a smile. Behind him two dozen fel orc warriors stood in ranks, his honor guard. "When we were capturing them, up until a week or so ago, we had hunting parties hidden all over this area with nets, grapnels, and the dragonslaver's whips. When they land to hunt rockflayers we catch them. They've learned to be swift and careful."

"Careful or not, you must still be able to capture them, and they should have figured that out by now. Why are they still here?"

The scrawny orc shrugged. "They don't seem to get it. They try to land swifter, eat their pray quickly or try to carry it away to safety. It works a lot of the time, but we got enough in the past to make it worthwhile."

"How many recently?"

"Recently? Just the seven wild ones we're in the process of breaking." The orc sounded smug.

A half dozen having their minds destroyed to make them willing pets. "How long have they been hunting these grounds? The rockflayers are wary, but their numbers are still fairly high. The drakes can't have hunted them down too greatly."

"A little over a year now," Juluhan admitted. He pointed east, into the nether, to the island off the continent that could just barely be seen. "They came from there, in greater and greater numbers. Likely whatever prey they'd been hunting has been devoured and they're seeking new hunting grounds. Odd, really. From what we know of the red dragons they never produce more offspring than an area can support, and they range far to hunt if prey gets scarce in an area. They'd never hunt a dangerous area when they could fly farther abroad."

Nex nodded slowly. From what he'd heard of these nether drakes they seemed like somewhat stupid creatures. Most dragons were dangerously cunning and calculating, with perfect memories and a propensity for magic. These nethers had the feeling of being black dragons, for all their appearance, but black dragons were the most cunning and deceitful of all the dragonflights.

He nodded to Juluhan. "What of the rockflayers? Are they difficult prey?"

Juluhan shrugged and turned to one of his attendants, a large orc with a whip curled around one arm. The orc glared at him, but spoke grudgingly. "We capture a few. Stony hides, and they seem to be able to make them harder. Those blades of theirs tear through rock and crystal. Very strong limbs, good jumpers too. Tough stringy meat, not enough to be worth the risk."

Nex nodded. "I'll need a spear. One with a steel head. And I want you all to withdraw out of sight of the hunting grounds."

Juluhan blinked. "All of us?"

"All of you. I want to get at one of those wild drakes without your people spooking them."

. . . . .

The rockflayer's angular head popped out of the shallow hole, glancing at the sky in every direction. It was an ugly thing, head like a rock, but it did have normal eyes. That was something. Apparently satisfied that all was safe, it leapt out of its hiding place and made a dash for the nearest crystal cluster.

It was good to be wary of the sky. Months of hunting had probably taught it that. Unfortunately it seemed to have forgotten about being wary of the ground.

Nex broke away from his hiding spot beside a rock and sprinted in pursuit of the thing. He'd put away all of his smoky gray armor that covered him from the waist down, preferring mobility and stealth to protection, but considering his quarry he'd prudently kept his breastplate, shoulderguards, rerebraces, bracers, and gauntlets, as well as his helm. He imagined he looked a bit ridiculous but didn't really care.

The rockflayer was so intent on the sky and its crystal feast that it didn't seem to hear the whisper of his boots on stone until he was upon it. It whirled just in time for Nex to thrust the spear at its eye with all the weight of his body behind the blow.

The thing made an odd, high pitched scratching noise, like teeth on chalkboard, and just before the narrow spearhead's point struck its eye a lid slid into place. The spearhead hit with a loud scraping noise and bounced away, leaving the "eyelid" unscathed. It had to be solid stone. Nex immediately reacted by swinging the spearhead back and up, bringing the butt of the spear around in a sweeping circle to take the creature's legs out from under it.

The rockflayer responded by screeching and leaping over the blow, directly for him. It was surprisingly fast, and he only had time to release the spear and throw himself to the side, ducking into a roll as he heard a noise like a pickaxe slamming into soft stone next to his head. He came up to his feet facing back the way he'd come, and saw the rockflayer's left blade, similar in appearance to a preying mantis limb, buried halfway into the stone. It pulled it free without apparent effort and leapt for him again, its bound easily clearing six feet as if it meant to come down on top of him from above.

Nex dove away again, this time coming up in a quick handspring that flipped him well away. There was a loud crunch as the rockflayer landed where he'd been, followed immediately by another screech as it leapt for him a third time. Since he was farther away this time its leap carried it eight feet into the air.

"To the hells with this," Nex muttered. Even if he got his spear back he'd probably just shatter it on the rockflayer's carapace, or better yet have it sliced in half by one of the creature's ungodly powerful forelimbs. The thing was fast, and it had incredible leaping ability, but the weakness of taking to the air like that was once you did your direction was set, and you couldn't shift it mid-leap.

So as the rockflayer landed it flew through a wall of incinerating flame, Nex once more dodging. But this time instead of putting some distance between them he'd merely stepped aside, and as the creature landed, staggering at the fire, he grabbed it from behind and immolated himself. The rockflayer screeched and leapt away again, but Nex had a good grip and came along for the ride, his fel green flames licking over the thing and superheating its rocky carapace until it melted. When it landed again it buckled beneath him, thrashing and gurgling in agony, and Nex stepped back and treated it to another blast of incinerating flame.

Then a shadow whisked over the ground towards him, growing rapidly bigger. The drakes had noticed his battle and one was finally pouncing.

Nex glanced up and saw that dodging in any direction would be impossible. The drake was big and agile, and short of extreme measures it was probably going to get him. So instead he leapt straight for it with all his strength and partial levitation, meeting it about fifteen feet off the ground. The drake roared in surprise as he struck its chest, and its head snapped down towards him. Nex rolled along its shadowy scales until he reached a wing and caught it one-handed, hauling with all his strength. With a bit of guidance he was able to flip himself up and around to sprawl on the drake's back, bracing himself just as it slammed into the ground.

Before the thing could attack him again Nex sent out a pulse of psychic power, one of the strongest he could manage. But not in an attack; dragons had frighteningly strong minds, and most could communicate with one another telepathically. Without an artifact such as the Demon Soul, or an artifact created with its power, assailing a dragon's mind directly was not only futile, but likely suicide.

So his pulse was not an attack, but a sending. It was a single word. _Hello._

The young drake was in the midst of buckling its spine in a fluid, whiplike motion that would probably have sent him flying several feet into the air, but at his sending it froze. Then its neck craned around; a long, narrow snout came close to sniff at him curiously. **Hello. You can talk.**

_Yes I can_.

The drake's head drifted closer. It had an almost sharklike snout, with numerous thin, razor sharp teeth. Its eye looked milky white, but as it peered at him it glowed with a purplish light. **I didn't know food could talk**. Suddenly alarm flashed across the drake's mind, broadcasted for Nex to see. **Faceless ancestors, have I been eating talking food all this time?** The drake began prancing nervously beneath him, obviously agitated.

Nex projected amused curiosity. _If you've been eating these rockflayers they're not particularly talkative. And if you've been hunting orcs no shame in that, since they hunt you as well._

The drake's next sending came across as petulant, almost childishly so. **I don't need a lecture on morality from food.** Its head disappeared, searching along the ground until it found the burned and dying rockflayer Nex had been fighting. **Is this yours?**

_It's yours. I got it for you._

The head whipped back up to peer at him suspiciously. **Why? **Without waiting for an answer it began carefully sniffing at the carcass, and Nex realized the Dragonmaw had probably captured drakes before by poisoning captured rockflayers.

_It's a gift between friends_, he sent hastily. _I wanted to talk to you._ Nex started to sit atop the drake's back, but it shrugged its shoulders irritably, sending him bouncing a few feet into the air.

**Get off so I can eat. You shouldn't be on my back anyway, cause the Broodmother says it's hard to defend myself back there.**

_My apologies._ Nex leapt off, coming around to sit by the drake's head as it ate. It was a fairly messy process, and shards of rock and viscera from the rockflayer spattered him. Nex ignored the filth, thinking. He'd assumed the drakes were stupid, but that wasn't so. Instead this creature seemed particularly childlike, which was no surprise considering how young it was, probably no more than five or so years. It was odd, though, because it spoke of a broodmother, and if it had a sire and a dam those drakes should have taught it more of the world and its people than this. Nex had been sitting on its unprotected back for a long while, poised to kill or cripple it, and it only thought to dislodge him so it could eat? _I am Nex_, he sent.

The drake paused to peer at him. **I'm Brightpoint. **With the drake's sending came an image, so powerful and unexpected that Nex had no time to even attempt to block it. He saw blackness as, as if from Brightpoint's view, his snout broke through an eggshell and looked out on the world for the first time. It was day, and all Brightpoint could see was sky from its little hole in the egg. In that sky was a single star, bright enough to be visible even by day. It gleamed in the otherwise empty expanse, and he felt the drake's awe upon looking at it, looking at the world for the first time. **What does your name mean, **the drake asked as it resumed feeding.

Nex hesitated. _Sometimes my people's names don't mean anything. But my name means this_. He projected an image of endless black, not dark but perfectly empty, with nothing, not even light, to fill it.

Brightpoint's head jerked back in horror. **What a horrible name!** it exclaimed.

Nex shrugged. _It's just a name. I was given it by my mother, I didn't choose it. It means nothing._

The drake peered at him once more, eye again glowing purple as it gazed deep with some sort of magical perception. **Does it? Does it really? **It sounded dubious. **Our names reflect what we are. I thought everyone knew that.** It gave a shake of its shoulders, then seized the remainder of the carcass and lifted it. **You are kind to give food, Nex. I was hungry. Goodbye.**

Nex lurched to his feet, holding out a frantic hand. _Wait!_ At his unexpected movement Brightpoint hissed and dropped the carcass, pulling its head back to strike and drawing itself up bigger. Unlike the attempt by the fool orc Nex had slain in Juluhan's throne room, this action _was_ intimidating. Nex slowly raised his other hand, so both were held outstretched harmlessly. _Don't go. I need to talk to you about your brothers and sisters the orcs captured._

. . . . .

**Are you sure this is okay?** Brightpoint asked as they winged towards Netherwing Ledge. Other drakes had abandoned their hunt to follow, some swooping in to sniff curiously at him and look him over from up close. One tried to steal him, perhaps thinking it was being playful, and Brightpoint whirled with surprising grace, snapping at his brother while mentally giving him a sound talking to.

Of all the drakes Nex saw Brightpoint was near the largest, although even he was still barely more than a juvenile. This netherwing flight was young, he was certain of it.

_How did your dragonflight come to be?_ he asked Brightpoint. _You resemble black dragons in some ways, but I've never seen your like before._

**I remember only the world as it is, and my time within the shell. But my broodsire, Neltharaku, and my broodmother Karynaku were of the first clutch. The only ones to survive when the rocks clashed. Their memories are imperfect, for they were in the egg and learning is different within, but as best they remember they were on Azeroth, waiting to hatch, and our forefather the Aspect Neltharion gathered them from their broodmother and carried them away. They felt something change as he carried them, and knew they were on a different world.**

**Believing the world to be a relatively safe haven for his offspring, Neltharion hid this clutch in nests all over the new land, leaving our older brothers and sisters to protect us until we hatched and grew.**

**But something went wrong. The older brothers and sisters disappeared, and my broodsire and broodmother were left alone. Then the world shook itself apart beneath them, and they felt the energies of it permeating their eggs. It was an agony for them, but somehow they survived, though many of the eggs were flung into the abyss. My broodsire and his brothers and sisters did their best to survive, but only he and my broodmother lived to bear eggs and see them hatched. In his youth he flew far over the land, and saw black dragons impaled on mountains like a thousand knives. He thinks those were what we were, but no we no longer are. We're the netherwing dragonflight.**

_In his youth? How old is your broodsire?_

Brightpoint made a motion if his head towards the massive gas planet in the distance.** Since his hatching, Neltharaku has seen that planet circle eighty-seven times.**

_I am not used to that reckoning. Do you know that the stars in the sky change position night by night, but ever a period of time they find their way back to their original position? On Azeroth we call that period of time a year._

The young drake was thoughtful. **If it is the same here, that would be...nine years, maybe ten?**

Interesting. That was around the time Ner'zhul had recklessly opened multiple portals on Draenor, and the magical stress tore the planet apart. He didn't know if it was possible, but it sounded like the energies released in that catastrophe had altered Deathwing's eggs, resulting in the nether drakes. The descendants of the black dragonflight who had become ethereal dragons with bodies composed of energies from the Twisting Nether. Without Deathwing's guidance the nether drakes had probably had a terrible time of finding their own way among the blasted ruins of Outland. He had to admit they were doing surprisingly well. Assuming they could solve their problems with the Dragonmaw clan, the netherwings might even become a proper dragonflight in their own right.

Who would have thought, new life after the death of a world.

**We're almost there,** Brightpoint said, turning his attention ahead. **Don't make me regret carrying you here. My broodmother will be displeased if you're an enemy.**

_I'm a friend, I promise._ Nex leaned forward to stare at the sight ahead.

Netherwing Ledge was a surprisingly large island, with crystal clusters similar to the ones in Netherwing Fields. There were no rockflayers to be seen, however, or any other signs of life save for tiny broodlings darting between the clusters in their peculiar games. At sighting Brightpoint and the other drakes many of these relatively tiny creatures flitted up to surround him, wings fluttering desperately to keep up. Rather than mental communication they spoke to their brother in a chorus of squeaks. Brightpoint rumbled something back at them, swatting playfully at one of the nearest, and the rest scattered and began nipping at his head.

Nex threw a shield around himself as more of the broodlings began darting at him, fangs and claws flashing. Then Brightpoint rumbled again, perhaps saying something but likely just making a warning noise, and the swarm of hatchlings dove back down to the jagged terrain below to resume their game.

Their flight took them over a few ridges and ravines, and then Netherwing Ledge's interior opened up before them, a large flat area filled with clutches of eggs in little craters, watched over by young drakes while more hatchlings swarmed around, making a general nuisance of themselves. In the midst of the flat area a dragon roughly twice the size of Brightpoint brooded over a clutch of eggs. A shadow fell over them, and Nex looked up to see an even larger dragon circling overhead.

The matriarch and patriarch of the netherwing dragonflight, he assumed. Karynaku and Neltharaku.

The broodmother sitting on her clutch of eggs lifted her head as Brightpoint landed beside her, and up in the air the broodsire canted sharply and came down to land beside the whelplings, who swarmed around him and landed on his back and shoulders, peering at Nex curiously through the massive nether dragon's translucent wings.

**Belthraku, dear, why do you have food on your back? **The broodmother's sending conveyed sudden brightness. **Is it for me?**

Brightpoint raised its head to obscure Nex from view. **It's not food, Broodmother. It talks. And not in squeakings and squealings either. It talks so you can understand it.**

**Oh? **With startling abruptness Karynaku's open thoughts became obscured, as did the broodsire's. A moment later both of their heads loomed up over Brightpoint's, staring down at him distrustfully. They seemed to be having an intense discussion with their drakeling, and then a moment later Karynaku raised a surprisingly dextrous foreleg and gripped Nex gently in a foreclaw, lifting him off Brightpoint's back and to the ground in the midst of the three drakes, with three massive heads looming over him.

**Why have you come here? **Neltharaku demanded. **Belthraku does not use his eyes, and so he cannot see that you stink like the orc leaders who steal our young. Have you come to steal our young as well? You will not feed many, tiny as you are, but that will be your end.**

Nex looked up into the purple glowing eyes of the netherwing patriarch. Then he did something he usually didn't do and lowered his mental defenses. If the dragons wanted to sift through his thoughts they were probably powerful enough to, and if he tried to resist they would likely break his mind. Besides, he wanted to show his sincerity. _I'm not here to harm your young. I am not an orc, either. I am a human. I come from Azeroth, as you once did._

**I know what a human is! **Neltharaku snapped. **I speak of your demon stink.**

**Quit talking to the food and let me eat him,** Karynaku said, head snaking around to nuzzle Neltharaku's neck. **Why do I care what he wants?**

Nex looked up at the two massive drakes thoughtfully. Both the broodsire and broodmother appeared to have gained nearly adult size for black drakes, though for dragons that was hard to judge since they kept on growing the older they became, and for nether drakes who knew their characteristics, whatever their relation to their black dragon forebears. But from the lack of maturity in their sendings, if Nex was any judge both were still very young, probably less than a decade, just as Brightpoint had indicated. They'd probably sped their growth artificially through excess feeding, and begun producing broods as swiftly as they were physically able. It was possible Brightpoint, one of the oldest of the drakes, wasn't much younger than his parents.

_I'm here to help_, he conveyed to the suspicious dragons. _I have been among the orcs known as the Dragonmaw. You do not seem to fear them as much as you should, for I see your children feeding in their hunting grounds. I've seen the pens where seven of your children wait to be broken._

Karynaku's rage washed over him like a torrent, and Neltharaku actually raised his head to the sky and roared. It was a terrifying, ethereal sound, as much a physical force as a noise, and Nex couldn't help but cringe slightly. **Cowards! **Neltharaku raged. **I will rip them apart in my teeth!**

Karynaku calmed swifter than her mate. **We know well of these orcs, ****and we are not idle. Soon our newest brood will be grown large ****enough for us to directly assail them. We'll bring back our children safe.**

Nex hesitated, then opened his mind as fully as he dared, letting the drakes feel his sincerity even plainer. _It will be harder than you think. The __Dragonmaw's former chieftain, Zuluhed the Whacked, was a terrifying enemy. He possessed a powerful relic that let him overpower Alexstrasza herself, the red dragon Aspect. The Dragonmaw took her prisoner and used her children to fight their wars._

Inexperienced the broodmother and broodsire may have been, but they weren't fools. **I've seen them use no power on our offspring, **Neltharaku objected. **Their weapons are whips and nets and ropes. And I've flown over their fortress and seen their might. When our brood matures we will storm them and rescue our captured offspring.**

Nex shook his head grimly. _I wish it were that easy, broodsire. By the time your attack is ready it will be too late for your captured children. The Dragonmaw have tools that do more than merely subdue them: they destroy their minds. _With that Nex reached into his pack and withdrew the dragonslaver's whip, tossing it to the ground before the two great drakes. Karynaku leaned in to sniff at the thing, then recoiled in horror.

**It draws me! s**he wailed. **I feel my own power resonating with it!**

_It is a cursed whip, created with the very power that bound Alextrasza. When used on a dragon it overpowers their mind, and repeated uses strip away all resistance, all self-awareness, all will. Your children are being broken with these whips, and when the process is done they are little more than mindless beasts._

With another terrible roar Neltharaku snatched the whip in his jaws and took to the air, his sinuous head snapping back and then forward. The whip arced high into the air, falling into the abyss Netherwing Ledge hung above. Nex watched it go with a small sense of loss; vile as the thing was, it had been a fairly powerful relic. He might have been able to get some use out of it in the future. Oh well, he'd have to steal another. Assuming that one didn't get thrown off the edge as well.

His whips had an unfortunate knack for finding that fate.

Karynaku, watching the whip fall, whipped her head around and brought it within a foot of where Nex stood. **Have you come to taunt us, little morsel?**

Nex met an eye the size of a dinner plate, glowing purple as the broodmother gazed into his mind and, assuming he had one, his soul. _I showed you my intent when first I came. That has not changed. Your children are in peril, but they're not broken yet. What if I could offer you hope of freeing them?_

The ground shuddered as Neltharaku landed once more. **What hope? We do not have the might to assault the Dragonmaw.**

_No. But you do not need might to free your children. If you tried to go in with a full assault it would be a difficult fight, one you would probably not win. But when it comes to aiding prisoners in escaping it's far easier to do from within, while the jailors sleep._

Three heads pressed in close, so Nex had barely room to move between them. **What do you propose? **Neltharaku demanded.

Nex stared deep into Karynaku's eye, letting her see his sincerity. _The Dragonmaw chieftain, Juluhan, wants to capture your brood swiftly __so he can build an army of drake riders. He knows the swiftest way to quell the drakes is to capture you, Broodmother, as his father captured Alexstrasza, but he does not have the power to do so. I have told him I do. If I "capture" you, you will be held in the same location as your children, with only my bonds holding you. Once those bonds are loosed, nothing will hold you back from freeing your children and fleeing with them._

Neltharaku snorted, nearly knocking Nex from his feet. **You would have me put my consort in the hands of our enemies?**

_No, Broodsire. I would have you put your consort in my hands. I assure you there is a significant difference._

. . . . .

_Remember, _he told Brightpoint as the young drake winged them back towards the Shadowmoon continent. _Make no aggressive moves towards the orcs. If they do not think you're entirely in my control, they will doubt my ability to do as I promise, and that puts our plan at risk._

Brightpoint shuddered slightly beneath him. **This plan is risky enough. My broodmother and broodsire may trust you but I promise you now, little creature, that if my matriarch suffers because of this I will personally hunt you down and eat you.**

_Fair enough. I'll do my part correctly. You be sure to do your part correctly as well, Brightpoint, or the orcs might kill me before you have the chance._

They raced over the feeding grounds, and Nex guided Brightpoint to bank and circle over the spot where he'd left the orcs. He saw them flood out from hiding places within the ledges and cracks, spears raised as they cheered. It appeared Juluhan was capering. Nex had the nether drake tilt enough that he could wave one arm over his head, showing he was there and in control, and then he directed Brightpoint to land a short distance away.

Juluhan raced up, dancing around the drake gleefully. "Oh yes it is," he giggled. "A wild drake, fully under your control! Remarkable!"

"This is child's play," Nex replied coolly as he dismounted. Gods, his head was pounding. He'd exerted him quite a bit recently, holding off the regenerative trance until it was safe. "I've seen the broodmother. They're like babies, these drakes, weak and trusting. I managed to convince them to make an exodus from their ledge to a spot nearby. The broodmother will be flying to the mainland tomorrow morning, while the broodsire supervises the ferrying of their eggs. She'll be all but unguarded."

The orc cackled. "Amazing, human. Amazing. What is the plan?"

Nex smiled, baring his long canines. "Get your drake riders ready. I'll need four dragonslaver's whips. Tomorrow, the Dragonmaw clan seizes control of the netherwing dragonflight."

. . . . .

Unsurprisingly, their arrival back at Dragonmaw Fortress was prefaced by Juluhan loudly declaring to his cronies that they'd be holding a great celebration this night. Nex refused the invitation, seeing Brightpoint led to the pen below the cliff holding the fortress, where the other unbroken drakes were held. "Do not disturb me or my drake this night," he told Juluhan as he led his "tamed" drake away.

_I must rest, _he told Brightpoint as he stumbled to the cliff wall inside the drake pen. _Will you watch over me as you plan with your siblings?_

A short distance away Brightpoint was nuzzling another drake with great excitement and relief. Although the captured drake's return of affection seemed sluggish, as if it barely understood what was happening. Brightpoint's reply seemed melancholy. **I'll do my best to see that no harm comes to you, and wake you if there is danger.**

Nex nodded and slumped down to the ground, the trance rising up within him. But he hesitated in letting it take him. _They will be free_, he assured the drake. Brightpoint did not reply, moving over to nuzzle another of the captured drakes, and Nex pulled his cloak over him like a blanket and huddled on the hard stone.

. . . . .

_Nex dreamed._

_Compared to the nightmares his trance usually afforded him, it truly was much like a dream, though for it to be pleasant was too much to hope._

_After he had fled the cave of Lynda the Demonologist, and in so doing escaped the claws of the nathrezim they'd summoned into Azeroth, he had wandered for a long time through blinding brightness and frighteningly infinite dark, the openness of sky and world all around filling him with terror. By day he stumbled with eyes shut tight and shirt tied over them like a blindfold, not even that enough to blot out the painful sunlight that leaked through, relying totally on his second sight. Even the full moon was painful, sometimes, though in a cool, soothing sort of way._

_He wisely fled the orc patrols and encampments, traveling to the northmost regions of Deadwind Pass and climbing the daunting cliffs there. And there he lived like an animal, huddling in cracks in the rock by day, fleeing any creatures he encountered. Nothing in his new life was as terrible as the life he had left, no enemy so mighty or fearsome as the demons which had tormented him. The world was his, wide and open and free of the evil he had lived with all his life. But that in itself held a unique sort of fear. _

_In the end, he knew he'd have to go back. He knew nothing else but that cave, had nothing else but the books, relics, and mundane things that lay within. He knew enough of demon lords to be certain that the dreadlord would not long remain content in the cave. Not when Deadwind Pass was empty of victims and there were other prizes on Azeroth a demon would covet enough to seek out. Perhaps the dreadlord had even left that very first day, nothing to interest it in the cave and havoc to wreak upon a new world._

_Still the thought of returning terrified him, and as days passed one after the other he huddled, miserable, too scared to go back and too scared to go on, and so remained atop mountains while his eyes gradually grew used to sunlight, and he gradually lost his fear of open sky and empty air as far as the eye could see in every direction._

_Until one night at the onset of winter a shadow of fear came over him, filling him with mindless dread, and he huddled down upon the rocks and looked up to see a shape like a monstrous bat pass across the stars, blotting them out as if destroying them for the instants in which it covered them. The shape winged north, ever north, and as it passed directly over him it gave a cry like the spirit of a tormented soul given voice. He fell shaking to the hard stone, and for a long time afterward was too overcome with dread to even move. Then the cry sounded again, far to the north, and he was able to stand on quivering legs. A third cry, almost out of hearing, told him that the creature was far, far away._

_Would it return? If so, he could only hope it did not do it soon. The dreadlord's passing was a sign, a sign that the time had come for him to go back to the cave._

_Just inside the cave the maze of traps and pitfalls was destroyed, the ceiling caved in in many places from the demon's wrath. He managed to find his way in, though the tunnels seemed almost unfamiliar to him. Storerooms, empty demon pits, cages, all either despoiled or destroyed. Finally he reached the doorway to the summoning chamber to find it splintered into a thousand pieces, metal torn as easily as wood. For a long while he cowered by the entrance to that door, working up the courage to enter._

_When he finally found it he needed only a moment to stare at the destroyed summoning circle, the shattered reagent table, and his mistress's violated, defiled corpse splayed in the center of what had been the portal that brought the dreadlord to Azeroth. Then he fled, so many emotions struggling for dominance that they all seemed to cancel each other out, leaving him numb and empty._

_He had wanted Lynda's death. He had hated her, despised her, feared her. She was the cruel mistress that tormented him, the source of the hell his life had been. How many nights had he dreamed of slaying her with his own hands? How many times had he prayed to any god that existed that he would be spared from her grasp and taken to a place of peace and safety?_

_And now his prayers were answered, and his savior was a nathrezim._

_In numb despair he wandered ever deeper into the tunnels, where they grew narrower and narrower as they approached the chambers that had been his mistress's. Until finally he found a corner where the passageway grew narrower still, right before her door, and facing him on the wall of that corner was a message scrawled in demonic with letters of blood. It did not take too much wondering to figure out where that blood had come from._

_**Human. You fled too soon, before I could properly thank you for bringing me to this world I have long coveted. If you've explored this area well I think you know how I express my gratitude. But I am not wholly churlish. I could have easily taken a smaller form and explored these deep tunnels where the stink of female musk is strongest, but I leave them to you. May you find many treasures, and items of sentimentality, within their twisting ways.**_

_**If you should ever decide you fled in haste and wish to meet me after all, you know how to find me,**_

_**Rachondimus.**_

_It was the cruelest taunt of all, an insult of utter contempt. All names held power, if properly used, but the name of an immortal held more power still. And a demon's name gave one great power over it. It allowed one to summon the demon no matter where it was, to bind it to their control if they were powerful enough._

_But he knew the truth. If he tried to summon Rachondimus it would come and he would be powerless to protect himself from it. He could not bind it, not even with a powerful summoning circle, many soul shards, and great objects of power. Rachondimus was beyond him. As far beyond him as he was beyond an imp._

_But it offered hope for the future. There was another thing one could do with a demon's name: ascertain its location. Track it. A being of Rachondimus's power and subtlety would likely know it was being magically tracked, but that didn't matter._

_He didn't intend to go after it until he was strong enough to destroy it._

. . . . .

Nex pulled himself awake sluggishly, a far cry from his usual waking, which was about when the nightmares became so unbearable that he judged his regeneration sufficient compared to remaining trapped within them. As he sat up Brightpoint, whose warm bulk was pressed against him comfortingly, lifted his head and moved it over to nudge Nex's shoulder with his snout. **You have bad dreams. I tried to make them go away, but they didn't. I hope you're done sleeping, cause I don't want to hear them anymore.**

Nex pushed to his feet. _I'm done._ He moved over to the other drakes, one at a time. They were all shackled to the ground, wings bound tightly to their sides, and they looked morose. Most didn't respond to his attempts to communicate, but they were still in their own heads enough to repel, violently in some cases, his attempts to search their minds.

Eventually Nex wandered back to sit against Brightpoint's side, spending the long hours until morning planning his attack. He had to make it appear genuine, but it also had to be effective, a difficult thing to manage. And the spell itself was probably going to be a bitch to cast.

Well before the sun rose horns began ringing in the fortress above, and orcs began rushing to the more permanent drake pens on the other side of the assembly yard, bringing the drakes out and fitting them with reins and harness. Nex motioned to Brightpoint and the drake reluctantly moved away from one of his brothers, who watched him go with a plaintive sag to his neck.

With the sun still below the lip of the continent sixteen drakes rose into the air in formation, Nex at their head. The flight was brief, and he saw to his relief that Karynaku was already soaring above the hunting grounds, flanked by a dozen of her drakes. Nex motioned to Juluhan, and with a roar the warlock led his drake riders in a rush forward. Nex guided Brightpoint up to where they could drop straight down on Karynaku.

_Remember,_ he told Brightpoint as the drake riders engaged the wild drakes below them, _your attack on the broodmother has to look genuine._

Brightpoint shrugged his shoulders in irritation, rocking Nex back and forth slightly. **You're just all about telling people what to do aren't you, talking food? I know how to play. Those red idiots won't know the difference.**

Nex nodded and addressed his thoughts to where Karynaku was allowing herself to be herded away from her guardians. _This is a good __opportunity to kill some members of the Dragonmaw. Just don't be too effective, and don't endanger yourselves._

A chorus of replies filled his head, most of them showing about as much appreciation as Brightpoint had for the unwanted and mostly unneeded advice. Karynaku's voice drowned them out. **We will do as planned. You do so as well.**

_Very well. Dive._ Brightpoint roared and plunged his neck down, shoulders following, and tucked his wings into a steep dive. Nex crouched atop the swiftly flying drake, struggling to keep his balance. As soon as they were directly over the broodmother he leapt off Brightpoint's back in a dive of his own, aiming for Karynaku's right rear leg.

He hit hard, feeling bones crack in his shoulder and torso, but he managed to ignore the impact long enough to get a grip on her leg just below the hip. Farther up Brightpoint had landed atop Karynaku's neck and was batting at her head in mock ferocity, and the broodmother gave a roar of surprise and pain and banked sideways violently, trying to dislodge her drakeling. At least, Nex hoped it was only Brightpoint she was trying to dislodge, since their attack would end with embarrassing suddenness if he was thrown off and had to levitate the several hundred yards to the ground below.

Gripping tight to the broodmother's leg with his own legs wrapped around it, Nex drew out the first of the four dragonslaver's whips and tied it around Karynaku's ankle. Karynaku roared and batted Brightpoint aside, then began shaking her back leg vigorously. Nex jolted back and forth, nearly biting off his tongue, as he fought to wrestle the dagger he'd borrowed from the Dragonmaw from its sheath. Once he had it free he plunged it into Karynaku's leg just above where the whip was tied. Smoke-like blood poured free as he began carving a large rune.

Karynaku went wild, flying upside-down and tearing at him with her three other legs. Nex desperately threw up a shield. _stop it!_ he demanded tersely. _You're going to shake me off!_

Her thoughts hit his mind like a hammer. **WHY ARE YOU CUTTING ME? IT HURTS AND THE SHACKLE FEELS LIKE IT'S SQUEEZING MY CLAW OFF!**

_It has to be genuine, I warned you of this! The Dragonmaw will know if I don't do it properly. They have powerful warlocks._

**I can't do this! I can't! They'll take me away and these horrible whips will tear away my mind!**

_They'll do no such thing. You're their hostage: the Dragonmaw won't hurt you for fear of alienating the nether drakes who will submit to them when you're captured. And if you don't do this, your children's minds will be lost forever._

His shield broke and Karynaku's legs began buffeting him, claws digging into his back and shoulders and nearly tearing him off. But finally she subsided, slightly, and Nex was able to finish carving the rune into her leg. Then he carved a line from the rune down to where the whip was tied to her ankle, and carved into the skin in a circle along the whip, connecting it all. The broodmother gave a bellowing wail, and Brightpoint wailed as well, falling away from where he was pretending to bat at her head and winging a short distance away. Her leg began to jerk violently beneath Nex, and again he was almost thrown off.

Then he gathered his power and used it to activate the seal, tapping the power of the whip to maintain it. With shocking suddenness Karynaku's leg and right rear flank went dead and still beneath him, and her flying became more labored.

_Come back and make it look as if you're trying to bear her to the ground, _Nex told Brightpoint. _If I get one of her wings sealed she's going to fall, and we want her to be closer to the ground when she does._

Brightpoint roared and swooped back in, from slightly above this time. He dropped onto the much larger broodmother's back near her neck, again snapping at her head as his weight drove them both dizzyingly towards Netherwing Fields below. Nex twisted upwards, getting his arms around the leg above where his feet were wrapped around, then let go with his feet and began climbing. It was harder than he had expected, with Brightpoint and Karynaku jolting and squirming, and it took almost twice as long as it should have for him to get up on her rear flank and lurch across to her left rear leg, sliding down it and holding with his legs again as he withdrew the second whip.

Karynaku jolted as Brightpoint broke away, both of their wings beating frantically to keep from smashing into a cluster of crystal with a few rockflayers scrambling for hiding places. Nex was quicker about getting the whip tied around her ankle this time, and drawing the rune and activating it. When he finished her entire back and tail went dead, though her wings continued to beat fiercely. She hovered in the air like a bee, without her usual grace, as Nex activated a levitation spell, tensed, and then leapt from her back leg to her left front leg. She gave a squeal of surprise and tried to shake him off, and his legs lost their hold and swung around, slamming into the crystal cluster. He barely managed to keep his grip with his arms as he swung his legs back in. _Careful, _he admonished.

Her reply was less than polite.

With a bellow Brightpoint came in again, driving them both to the ground this time. Nex was forced to let go and roll away before Karynaku's bulk crushed him, while the broodmother flailed with her front legs and flapped her wings frantically. It was starting to look less like a show and more like true desperation, and seeing it Brightpoint broke away again, his head bobbing back and forth in distress.

**Do it!** Karynaku demanded, the sending almost incoherent with panic. **Do it now!**

Nex dove forward, leaping and desperately grabbing at her claws. Somehow he managed to climb back on her foreleg and get the whip around her ankle. She hissed and snapped at him, and he barely managed to bat her head aside with his free hand as he carved the rune. It took longer than it should have to complete, and then she went down with a roar, only one leg and wing on her right side still functional. With increasing desperation she flopped around.

Nex looked up to see that the Dragonmaw were "chasing" the free drakes away, while Brightpoint landed and did his best to pin his matriarch. **Do it**, he said grimly, repeating his broodmother's words.

Nex nodded and rushed to tie the final whip in place and seal it. Then he carved a line up each leg to join in the back along her spine, carving a last line up her neck to the base of her skull and drawing a final rune there. For the ultimate step he took the remainder of his power and sealed it all together, and Karynaku went still beneath him.

Panting, Nex slid down her neck to stand between her shoulders. _It's done._

**No, **Karynaku replied, sounding distant and faint beneath the spell which bound her, **it's begun. You swear these whips will lose their power over me when the time comes?**

_They require a bearer to power them. My spell does that for now, but when it wanes they'll be no more than bits of rope you can shred to pieces and fling aside._ Nex looked up again to see that the Dragonmaw drake riders had turned around and were winging back. There were two less than there had been, only fourteen now. _Here come the Dragonmaw. I'm going to have to use the spell to control you and make you fly back to the fortress. It won't be pleasant._

Karynaku's response was filled with determination.** Anything for my broodlings.**

. . . . .

Unsurprisingly, as soon as Karynaku was situated in the wild drake pen Juluhan declared another feast, promising this one to be the greatest the Dragonmaw had seen since the cataclysm.

"No, I won't attend," Nex replied in answer to his offer. "I've done my part, now I want my drakes. As many as you can spare. And it better be near enough your entire force.

Juluhan's eyes went wild with anger for a moment, but then he smiled a false smile and sniggered. "Course you do. Course you do. Come feast with us and leave in the morning."

Nex spat at the orc's feet. "It's barely noon, and I have business to be about. Assign your drake riders under a commander who'll follow my orders. I want to leave today." Before the chieftain could respond Nex turned and strode towards where Karynaku was bound.

Despite the fact that Juluhan had checked his spell and declared it adequate, the chieftain had still ordered his wranglers to chain the broodmother down and bind her wings to her sides. Nex had been mildly concerned that this would interfere with her plans, but Karynaku assured him that she could break free of these bonds when the time came. There was a vast difference in power between a half-grown drake and a near-grown dragon.

So, all things seeming to be going well, Nex had Brightpoint fly him up to a ledge overlooking the fortress and contacted his master.

Surprisingly, for the first time in a while Stormrage manifested as a projected image. Nex gave his report, and when he was finished the demon night elf actually smiled. Or at least bared his fangs. "I'm pleased by your success, human. That you've managed to make allies of the Dragonmaw will allow Chieftain Zuluhed to step in without needing to subdue his minions. I had feared that after being gone so long the Dragonmaw would be reluctant to return to his leadership."

Nex felt a sinking in his gut. "Care to elaborate, master?"

"Of course. The Chieftain of the Dragonmaw, Zuluhed the Dragon Tamer, was serving under Magtheridon when I stormed Black Temple and took the pit lord's throne from him. Many of Magtheridon's minions have sworn themselves to my service, including Zuluhed. And you've made the Dragonmaw even more valuable to me by capturing this nether drake matriarch and thus assuring their cooperation. When Zuluhed returns to his people in triumph he will bind Karynaku in chains she cannot break, guaranteeing that eventually all nether drakes will be under Dragonmaw control. And, by extension, under my control. This is a great victory indeed, in its own way as valuable as Tempest Keep."

It was an effort to keep his dismay from showing. Zuluhed the Whacked, the only creature insane enough to hold a dragon Aspect hostage and force the red dragonflight to fight in war. That it was Alextrasza the Lifebinder herself, forced to watch her children working against her purposes, made the outrage even more pronounced.

Whatever Nex's plans, if such a figure returned and seized control of Karynaku she would never be free, and her children that were free would in time become slaves. "You knew about the Dragonmaw from the beginning," he accused. "That's why you were so quick to accept my alternative. So I could come help the Dragonmaw capture more drakes and bring them more easily under your sway. I imagine you intended to put Zuluhed in charge of his people again no matter what I did, and I only did your dirty work once again."

"That is your purpose in my service, is it not?"

Nex scowled at the image. "I'm pleased that my plan was in fact yours all along," he said stiffly. "Juluhan has given me his entire contingent of available nether drakes, fourteen in all and then the one I captured to make fifteen, as well as the riders and whips to control them. It will not take long to find the Corona's Blaze militia and ferry them to Netherstorm."

Stormrage's image nodded. "You do well, Nothing. You will be rewarded. I shall inform Captain Redcrest of your coming so he can prepare his troops."

Nex couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, prepare them to attempt to kill me again."

The blindfolded eyes narrowed. "Oh? What's this, Nothing?"

"I won't insult your grasp of the situation by pretending you didn't know the blood elves tried to kill me. It was largely due to my own leadership mistakes, as well as misjudging the depths of their lingering resentment for my kind."

"I wasn't aware. It seems none of my faithful servants saw fit to inform me of this domestic squabble. I shall make certain Kael'thas guarantees Redcrest's fidelity. Rest assured, your army will be yours when you return."

"With all due respect, master, the army was mine to begin with, with the endorsement of Kael'thas and your own unwavering support, and they still mutinied. There's no certainty that, even if Kael'thas specifically orders them to do otherwise, they won't attempt it again."

Stormrage scowled. "Are you saying you can't work with the Corona's Blaze militia, Nothing?"

"Far from it. I'm asking that neither you nor Kael'thas interfere in the matter. I have the drakes that will carry us to Tempest Keep. I can offer Redcrest and his traitors the success they couldn't have before. Let me regain control of my own army. My position as commander will be more secure if I take it back myself, rather than continuing to seem your figurehead lackey."

The demonic night elf bared his fangs once more. "As you wish. Report to me again when Tempest Keep is ours."

As the image faded Nex leaned back against the stone. He spent a few moments staring down at Dragonmaw Fortress and its orc minions. The Dragonmaw clan was wild, insane even. They would probably be eager to accept Stormrage and the opportunities for bloodshed he offered, whatever the cost to themselves.

Nex swore, leaning his head back against the outcrop behind him. The Black Temple wasn't far from this spot. If Zuluhed was already freed and on his way there was no telling when he would arrive, and likely the first thing he'd do would be to bind his prize, Karynaku, in these "chains she couldn't break". Nex's own binding spell wouldn't begin to degrade until he left, and then it would be twelve or so hours before the whip shackles were weak enough for her to break free of them.

Was there some doom placed upon him, that all his efforts turned to the worst for those who had the misfortune of encountering him? Saire had been right, he did leave a wake of death and destruction behind him. Enemies who should have fled fought to the death, factions that should have become his allies instead became his enemies. Creatures that were free imprisoned themselves at his word, and suffered.

He swore again.

There was no way he could free Kerynaku now. For one thing her plans were still in motion, and she'd be unable to free her children as easily during the day. For another such an action would immediately place him under suspicion, and Stormrage would punish him. If the Dragonmaw didn't simply attack him outright. But most of all, without the nether drakes he'd be powerless to attack Tempest Keep, forcing Stormrage to carry out his plan of simply destroying the structure and dooming all draenei to their deaths.

Even if he freed the drakes now and managed to earn Karynaku's gratitude, there was no guarantee she'd agree to letting him use her children as ferries and battle mounts. For one dragons were notoriously uninterested in involving themselves in the affairs of mortals. And while these creatures weren't technically black dragons they were the brood of Deathwing, and while they may have never met their sire or been twisted by his madness he had trouble trusting any relation of black dragons to keep their word unless compelled. Then there was that if the nether drakes really were honorable, they'd be unwilling to aid him in waging war on an innocent people such as the draenei.

A heavy beating of wings and a rush of wind alerted him to Brightpoint's arrival, and using the mental link he'd formed with the drake he stood and reached behind to stroke its flank, not needing to look to know where his hand fell. The drake's thoughts impressed themselves on his mind.

**The Broodmother's plans progress well, human. We may leave at our leisure.**

Nex nodded and leapt backwards, twisting slightly so he landed astride Brightpoint at the base of his neck, just above the wing junctions. _Sooner rather than later, my friend. We leave immediately, if it can be arranged. Let your matriarch know that time is of the essence._

The drake's thoughts came slowly, somewhat confused and clouded with the beginnings of suspicion. Nex was only glad that the fledgling netherwing dragonflight had little experience to go with their share of dragon craftiness, or manipulating them would be far more difficult. **Why is that?**

_Nothing is certain in this world. The Dragonmaw may trust my bonds for now, but they may decide to add their own after I'm gone. The sooner she can carry out this rescue the better._

He had the sense of the young drake's reluctant agreement. **I will ****advise her.** With a rush of tense muscles the drake launched itself off the ledge, and they dropped a heart-stopping twenty feet before his large wings fanned out, catching the air, and they glided down towards the Dragonmaw Fortress drake grounds.

Nex nodded and closed his mind off to the drake, settling back as they flew. He could only hope that by leaving immediately and giving Karynaku warning, she would be able to free herself from his bonds and flee before Zuluhed arrived.

Either way he had his drakes, enough to mount a full assault on Tempest Keep. The fate of the netherwing flight was in their own hands now.

. . . . .

Roughly a half-hour later fifteen drakes rose up into the air above Netherwing Fields, winging westwards towards the edge of the continent. They'd been traveling for about an hour, Nex ahead of the other drake riders by a fair distance, when Stormrage unexpectedly spoke in his mind.

"**One last thing remains, Nothing. To kill Juluhan, self-styled Dragon Tamer."**

Nex arched an eyebrow. Unexpected. _Oh?_

"**Yes. His death serves two purposes: one, to allow you to retrieve the Illidari stone fragment he carries; and two, to hasten the return of Zuluhed the Whacked. Zuluhed is a legend among his own clan, but Juluhan will likely still attempt to hold power, killing his father if he could. I would prefer it if Zuluhed's ascension to Chieftain of Dragonmaw be as bloodless as possible. I would not advise letting your drake riders know of it. Let them serve you in the taking of Tempest Keep before learning you assassinated their master."**

_As you command._

Stormrage seemed surprised. **"Oh? No protests about snuffing out a life before its time? No weeping over needless bloodshed? I'm surprised, human: after all the resistance you've offered recently, by this point in the conversation I expected to be swimming in an ocean of your tears."**

Nex barked a short, mocking burst of laughter. _Protest the slaying of a fel orc warlock? You know me less well than you think, master. I save my reservations for the deaths of those who actually deserve to live._

"**Still, you didn't even mention the fact that I could have just as easily slain Juluhan, saving you the task."**

_I will never complain the opportunity to slay demons or their minions, Master. Besides, I want my Illidari stone whole as greatly as you. After all, I have a naaru to subdue._

"**Well spoken, Nothing. See it done."** Stormrage's presence vanished from his mind.

Nex mentally urged Brightpoint back to fly alongside Oligan's mount. "Continue onward!" he shouted to the fel orc flightmaster over the wind of their passage. "You can stop for camp when you reach Terrokar. I will meet you there."

Without waiting for the flightmaster's response he urged Brightpoint around. **Where are we going?** the young drake asked exuberantly. The creature loved flying for its own sake, a state of mind Nex was swift learning to share.

_We're going to kill Juluhan._

Brightpoint's surprise and excitement hit him like a gust of gale force wind. **We are? Will that make Broodmother's escape easier?**

_I certainly hope so_, Nex responded with a frown, thinking of Zuluhed the enslaver of Alextrasza approaching Dragonmaw Fortress. _I hope so._

. . . . .

The gates of Dragonmaw fortress were barred to him, which shouldn't have been much of a surprise, he supposed. His business with them was concluded for now, and having a human in their midst likely galled them. When he demanded to see Juluhan they actually sent for the wizened warlock, rather than letting him in. That suited Nex just fine, since assassinating the chieftain would be much easier to escape from if they were both outside.

Juluhan emerged scowling, staggering along clutching his staff. "Forget something?" he demanded, coming up to stand defiantly in front of him. "I thought our business was finished.

Nex stepped forward, putting a hand on the fel orc's shoulder. Juluhan's eyes narrowed at the thinly veiled insult, but the wizened orc didn't try to shake his hand off. "I realized I still needed to offer you my master's regard, and wish you a true farewell." As he said the last word Nex cast his magical silence, binding Juluhan's tongue with the strongest spell he could manage. Surprised, the fel orc warlock's magic surged within him, struggling to break the effect so Juluhan could defend himself. In truth he did an admirable job of it, but he was still too slow.

Nex immolated his free hand, thrusting it into Juluhan's robes beneath the orc's heart. The bloodrune-scribed cloth caught fire immediately, burning to ash beneath his hand as he sought for the pocket that held the Illidari stone. Juluhan's screams were buried by the silence spell, but with his palm flat against the Chieftain's chest he could feel them trying to burst free as the warlock quivered in agony. Then his questing hand found the Illidari stone fragment among the charred remains of Juluhan's robes, and he pulled it free.

"So, farewell," he said, and turned and flung the stone. Only ten feet or so, but from the way Juluhan's screams tore free of his body behind Nex he would have thought he'd ripped the orc's soul from his body. Of course, technically he had.

As Juluhan died behind him, a surprisingly long and painful death, Nex strode forward and bent to pick up the Illidari stone fragment, tucking it next to the one in its pocket next to his breast. He felt a quiver as the stones reacquainted themselves, and the flow of power within him increased, and to more than it had been before if he was any judge.

On the wall above the gates of Dragonmaw Fortress a warhorn sounded, brazen and urgent, and Nex raised his hand in a rude gesture over his head and broke into a run towards Brightpoint. _Come_, he said as he mentally urged the dragon to meet him halfway. _I imagine the Dragonmaw will give chase._

Brightpoint seemed almost amused as he picked Nex up gently in his sharklike teeth, craned his neck around, and deposited him on his back. **Your weight atop me is nothing. I love and mourn my brothers captured by the orcs, but with the heavy red brutes riding them and controlling their every move they're as sluggish and clumsy as a stormfed etherwyran.** As if to prove his superiority Brightpoint surged forward into a skim only half a dozen feet above the ground, expertly dodging between crystal formations at breathtaking speed. Nex could only hold on desperately to the smooth semi-translucent scales and hope the cocky drake didn't decide to do a barrel roll or some other madness.

Behind him, the horns of Dragonmaw sounded fainter and fainter, and he caught no sign of pursuit as they made for Terrokar to rendezvous with the other drake riders.


	19. Before the Tempest

Hey guys. Got caught up in a new project that's taking up most of my time. The next chapter will probably be delayed in coming.

Soz,

NT

Chapter Eighteen

Before the Tempest

The blood elves were barely into the Zangar Marshes when Nex and his drake riders found them.

Nex swooped down low over the front of the army, where the leaders were gathered. Then he ordered Brightpoint to circle out of range of bows, even as he slipped from the saddle and tucked himself into a roll. He hit the ground hard on one foot and continued the roll, bleeding his momentum in a way that wouldn't snap his bones like tinder, and came up on his feet not ten feet away from the gaping officers.

Immediately Theril clutched at the large pommel of a dagger tucked into his sash, drawing it free, and Nex felt him push energy into it. Nex lurched forward and shot his hand directly behind him, and as he began closing it into a fist Theril disappeared. The sensation of cloth appeared under his fingers, and his fist closed around something solid. He spun, yanking the limb he gripped down and in and throwing himself on top of the enemy behind him. In the end he knelt over Theril as the Elder lay helpless on the ground. As he'd anticipated, his blindly grasping hand had closed around the wrist of the hand that held his Blinkstrike. Theril gaped up at him, eyes wide in shock, and started to open his mouth, but before he could Nex made a gesture and slammed shadow energy into the blood elf, cleaving his tongue to the roof of his mouth.

Still he saw the disbelief in the Elder's eyes, and laughed. "You think I don't know my own weapon?" he asked mockingly. "You think I haven't spent long hours since I lost it thinking how to counter its abilities?" He slammed Theril's wrist against the stony ground, hard, and the Blinkstrike went clattering from Theril's hand. Leaving the old blood elf where he lay, Nex picked up his recovered weapon and put it back in the sheath that still waited for it at his waist. As he stood he raised a hand and called out the word of power, raising a shield around him just as four arrows clattered against it. He turned towards the blood elves with a frown of displeasure.

Nova was gaping at him, sword drawn, while the Spell Breakers were forming into a wedge to charge at him, the screeching of the hawkstriders bearing witness to their riders' alarm. Behind them Saire stood stupefied, not even having begun casting a spell, while at the back of the line bowmen were scrabbling to nock arrows. Nex raised his voice to a shout. "Fools! You think I came to punish you for your actions? You think I traveled the width and breadth of Outland and returned with fifteen nether drakes so I could have revenge?"

Redcrest hesitated, then slowly raised his hand, ordering the troops behind to stand down. "It seems a logical reaction," he said warily.

Nex laughed. "You mutinied because Tempest Keep was lost to us, our mission ended in failure. You tried to kill me because in order to complete our objective we'd have to be able to fly!" Nex sent a mental command to Brightpoint, and heard the rush of wings as his drake landed beside him, opening its narrow mouth and hissing at the blood elves through fangs like daggers. Nex reached out and rested a hand atop the sharklike snout. "Gentlemen, that obstacle is no longer insurmountable. Shall we forget this nonsense between us and get back to the task that brought us to this miserable place?"

Redcrest hesitated, obviously scrambling for some way to take control of the situation. Behind Nex Theril rose to his feet, but Nex's second sight showed no threatening movements. "I do not see how that is possible," the Spell Breaker Captain finally answered.

Nex lifted his hand, pointing at the drakes which circled above. A few, weary perhaps, had come to a landing on a nearby ridge and perched in a line like vultures waiting for a dying animal to stop moving. "Let's be realistic, shall we? Your prince wants you to take Tempest Keep, but without these fifteen drakes you will be unable to do so. These drakes are mine, and the orcs who control them. Sworn to serve me until my need for them is done. As I go, so go they.

"But at the same time, you rebelled and tried to kill me. I'm not so big a fool as to try to step back in and resume command. Velansar Redcrest leads you, and he will lead this attack. My purpose will be to advise him and lend my aid, and my dragons. Once my part in the taking of Tempest Keep is finished you need never have to see me again."

The blood elves murmured at this, and Nex smiled grimly. "Two choices, Redcrest. Kill me and lose my drakes, or let me serve you, and complete the objective which Prince Kael'thas has tasked you with. What say you?"

Redcrest scowled, obviously displeased, but his eyes kept darting to Brightpoint and the circling drakes. "We will forgive your sins, human, if you serve us this one last time."

Nex laughed mockingly. Let the fool try to save face, he didn't care. "Wonderful. Let's retire to your tent, shall we, and prepare our plans for the taking of Tempest Keep. Once we've hashed out a useable strategy we'll bring the other officers in for their feedback."

"What treacherous game do you play now, human?" Theril whispered at his back, for his ears only.

Nex smiled and replied out of the corner of his mouth. "A game where everyone wins, Elder. You seem very eager to take the moral high ground, for a group of murderers willing to leave a child to his death among the Netherstorms."

Theril sounded surprisingly weary when he replied. "He is dead, then?"

"Yes. He is dead, and his corpse sits in my backpack." Without giving the elf time to think that through Nex started forward, towards Redcrest. "Come, Captain. Order your people to set camp, and your tent first of all. We have things to discuss."

. . . . .

"I'll admit, human, I had my doubts about your death, but I can honestly see no way you could have lived. Do you have two of those Blinking daggers?"

Nex lounged on the folding chair the soldier set for him and waved the elf away. Other soldiers were bringing in Redcrest's things and putting them in place, while Redcrest stood beside his travel desk staring at him with dark eyes.

"Only the one, I'm afraid." He sure as hell wasn't telling the man how he'd lived. "Perhaps you should send your people away, Captain. They can finish ordering the tent to your liking after we are done." Redcrest scowled, but gestured curtly to the other elves, who ceased their bustling and cleared out swiftly. Nex lowered his voice in case of mundane eavesdroppers. "Do you know, Redcrest, that during my time in Stormwind a banker campaigned to have me thrown from the city and barred from ever returning?"

Redcrest continued to lean against his desk, eyes narrowed. He still held his warglaive in hand, and his tower shield was strapped to his other arm. "What of it?"

"That banker owed me a great deal of money. His actions were outright robbery, using the King's guardsmen as his bullyboys and thugs so he needn't pay me the sum. Later, I infiltrated Stormwind for another purpose. Do you have any notion of what I did to that banker?"

"I imagine you killed him, and in quite a grisly manner," Redcrest replied reluctantly.

Nex let a ghost of a smile touch his lips. "You imagine wrong. I did nothing to the banker, and I intend to do nothing to him if ever I am back in Stormwind. My focus is on my purpose, not my pride. Which is why when I swear on the darkness within my soul that I will do nothing to your people in retaliation for your past crimes against me, you can trust I am sincere."

"Can we?" But in spite of his words Redcrest relaxed slightly. He set aside his warglaive-though still within easy reach-and began fumbling at the straps on his shield.

Nex chose the moment to surge out of his chair and close the six feet between them, throwing his weight against the powerful blood elf. Velansar snarled and took a step back for balance, but the desk was directly behind him and instead he found himself tumbling, off-balance. He scrabbled, but neither hands nor feet could find purchase to restore his equilibrium; he was a moment away from falling backwards onto the floor. Nex caught his free arm, stabilizing him, while with his own free hand he drew his Blinkstrike and pressed the blade against the Spell Breaker's throat.

"But let's not deceive ourselves, shall we?" he hissed into the stunned and helpless blood elf's face. "Naming you in command was just a sop to the rank and file, to keep them from taking it into their heads to try to kill me again. But between us, _I _command, and you will do exactly as I say until Tempest Keep is taken. After that I will leave as I promised, and you need never see me again."

Redcrest's expression calmed. He was still off-balance, and any movement he tried would get his throat cut, but he showed remarkable self-possession under the circumstances. "And if that is unacceptable?"

"It had damn well better be acceptable," Nex shot back. "Because just as I swore that I would not retaliate against you I swear an equally strong oath, by every tie that binds me, that if you or your people plot against me or rebel again before Tempest Keep is taken, I will kill you. And that will not be the end, for I will rip the very soul from your body." He shook the blood elf, nearly causing them both to topple to the ground. "Do you hear me, Redcrest? Cross me again, and I will see to it that you spend eternity in endless torment. And do not doubt that I can do as I promise."

Redcrest's face had paled, but otherwise he did well to control himself. "If you really do intend to leave us and trouble us no more as soon as the Keep is taken, then I will follow your orders until then. I swear it by my oaths to Sunstrider and my hope of honor and glory."

Nex released the elf and turned back to his seat, sinking into it calmly. "Well then. If that's settled then let's begin planning our attack on Tempest Keep, shall we?"

. . . . .

When Nex exited Redcrest's tent an hour or so later he found Saire waiting for him.

She hardly looked the same as she had before. She was wan and miserable, eyes full of shame and bitterness. Her clothes were filthy, and she'd obviously made no attempt to clean them. In truth she looked much like the waifs he'd seen in the Lordaeron refugee camps, fled from the Scourge and the Plague of Undeath but with no idea where they were fleeing to or if they'd even survive the day. "Human," she said. Her voice was lacking its former haughtiness.

"Mage," he replied. "The weeks since I left have not been kind to you."

She laughed bitterly. "It is my people who've not been kind to me. Much as it galls me to say so, you're far more honorable than those who tried to murder you."

Nex smiled wryly. "You couldn't be more wrong."

"Couldn't I? For all your words, for all your claims of darkness within your soul, for all that you protest to hate all thinking beings, have you not endlessly tried to preserve our lives, and even the lives of our enemies when possible? And after we tried to murder you, you come back to us and swear to help us complete our task."

"Again you are wrong, Mistress Saire. I came back to get you to help me complete _my_ task. That your people benefit is simply happy coincidence."

She stared at him, and her eyes were still beautiful in spite of all that she'd suffered. Perhaps because of it, making them seem larger and more vulnerable. "When my people turned against you, had I known of it I probably would have joined them. Perhaps even without remorse. But now, after seeing them as you must I think I would have spoken in your behalf."

"How noble of you to say so." Nex let his pack slide off his shoulders and into his hand, then ducked between two tents, letting them shield him from view, and withdrew the box holding his dimensional pocket portal. He fanned the cloth out, opening it, and reached inside. Around his reaching arms wind whistled, the air surrounding him rushing into the vacuum he'd created within the pocket portal. "If you have even a scrap more decency than your people, I ask only one thing of you." It took a bit of feeling around, but finally he caught Montfere under his shoulders and drew the frozen body out. Then he dispelled the powerful incantation keeping the heat out of the boy's body. Beneath his hands he felt the dead flesh begin to thaw.

Behind him Saire gasped loudly. Without turning he shoved Montfere's body in her direction. "Hold him," he said tersely. The weight left his hands, and he turned from her and retrieved his pocket portal, tucking it back into its box and returning the box to its place.

When he turned back around he was astonished to find Saire on her knees with Montfere's lifeless head in her lap. The woman was weeping quietly, running gentle fingers through the still, cold child's hair, pressing her lips to his pale blue cheek. She looked up, and though nothing but her expression had changed she seemed an entirely different person. "Why would you bring his body?" she asked, accusing him with eyes luminous with tears. "Another judgment, another condemnation?"

"Far from it," Nex replied, kneeling down beside her. From within one of his most protected pockets he withdrew the soulstone he'd made with Montfere's soul. "The boy was on the brink of death by dehydration. I had no water to give him, no food. It was doubtful I could have found water in time to save his life, even if I put him into a hibernation as deep as my abilities could manage. So I took a different route."

She shook her head, clutching the body protectively. "Not even paladins can heal one so long dead. He's cold as ice, stiff as a board. It must be days, weeks, since he died."

Nex smiled grimly. "Paladins cannot heal one long dead because the soul breaks free of the body and travels on to places unknown. I did not give Montfere's soul that option."

Saire looked up, eyes widening in horror. "What?"

"He's not stiff, he's frozen solid. I withdrew all the heat from the pocket portal, along with the air, to create a storage area where the body would not decay or stiffen in rigor mortis. His body is as perfectly preserved as it was in life. All it requires now is its soul." Nex lifted the soulstone, waving it significantly. "I've not done this before, but I took all the proper steps. The boy will live again."

Her eyes softened with sudden hope. "Please," she begged, "please, I'll do anything to have him back, to make up for failing him in the first place."

"I don't do this for you, I do it for him." Nex gently lifted the boy from her arms and laid him flat in the muck of the Zangar Marshes. Then he took the soulstone in his hands, concentrating, and began casting a powerful spell. The soulstone fragmented, shivering into white light, then drifted down to Montfere's body and entered through his mouth and nose. "His body is frozen, provide it heat," Nex said calmly as a shudder rippled through the boy's flesh. "Also you should get out my Ankh and give it to me."

Saire started and fumbled in her pouch, withdrawing the Ankh and shoving it into his hand even as she began casting a spell to warm the rocks beneath Montfere. Nex used the Ankh to thaw the boy's throat and lungs, and Montfere drew in a strangled breath, coughing and hacking.

Saire cried out again and threw her arms around the boy, holding him close. Montfere continued to struggle for breath. Nex watched for a moment then, content the boy would live, turned away. "Be sure he has water and food."

He saw a motion out of the corner of his eye, and turned just in time to stagger back as Saire threw her arms around him and buried her face against his neck. "Thank you," she whispered. "I meant what I said. I'll give you anything for this. Just say the word."

Nex was so nonplussed that he had to fumble for words. "I only, ah, ask that you care for the boy. I'm no fit guardian. At the least, see to it that he isn't abandoned to his death."

"Never again," she promised, blue-green eyes staring into his without the usual revulsion or unease. Then she hurried back to Montfere, drawing a waterskin from her belt and helping him sit up and drink.

Nex again turned and walked away. He had to get the nether drakes and their handlers ready to ferry the Corona's Blaze army to netherstorm. Oligan had seemed confident that the fifteen drakes could carry the sixty or so remaining blood elves, and Brightpoint had agreed that it shouldn't be too difficult. Light as the elves were, two of them equaled the weight of one fel orc, sometimes even three of them. So Nex ordered the drake riders into position to receive the blood elves. They used the beasts of burden who'd been pulling the wagons to feed the nether drakes, carrying what supplies the drakes could manage and leaving the rest. The hawkstriders were carried gently in nether drake claws, squealing the whole time but hopefully unharmed.

It was a day of flying to reach the staging area Nex had decided on in Netherstorm. They were forced to stop for rests twice, but other than that the journey was uneventful and the evening of the next day they reached the camp Nex had selected, within striking distance of Tempest Keep but out of view of the structure.

Nex dismounted from Brightpoint's back, leaving Saire, Nova, Theril, and Montfere to dismount on their own. He strode over to the drake Redcrest had rode upon. "Gather the officers. It's time to prepare our battle plan.

. . . . .

_Beware the man who doesn't laugh, who sits apart from others, in the shadows. Whose eyes shine in the darkness. For hatred is in his heart for all he sees, and deep bitterness. He will follow you into the night, and murder you in a dark alley, and not even take your coin._

_Beware even more the man who laughs too easily, when others would be sober. Who stands in the center of the crowd, merry and bright. For in his heart burns a terrible anger, hot and perilous, that not even he knows is there. But when that anger comes forth all who stand with him will sorrow._

_For the man who cannot laugh has a disease in his soul, and the man who laughs at everything has madness in his eye._

It was an old proverb, ostensibly one cautioning those who heard it to be moderate in their actions, comporting themselves with reserve and nobility but also not afraid to celebrate the glad things in life. Saire had never paid it much heed, but now she looked between Lokiv and Hiezal and realized she was caught between just two such people.

Oh certainly, Lokiv laughed. But there was no true mirth behind it, and she had seen the deep hatred in his eyes. And certainly Hiezal did not laugh more than others, but he also took nothing seriously, and grieved at nothing.

Yet Hiezal had stayed true through everything, even after she'd said she hated him. And Lokiv had saved Ilinar's life and returned him to her.

Ilinar was back at her father's tent, sleeping soundly. He'd wakened only long enough to drink half his own weight in water and eat himself sick, and then he'd fallen asleep again, snuggled up in her blankets on the floor. Saire would have been embarrassed had her father come in and seen her sitting beside the sleeping boy, running her fingers through his hair. She didn't know what had changed within her, that her idle fondness for Ilinar had turned into fierce and protective love. Perhaps it was merely her way of atoning for failing him in the first place. But whatever it was she meant what she'd said to Lokiv: she would not let anything happen to Ilinar. Never again.

"Saw the boy was still alive." She jumped and turned to see Hardal standing close by. They were all gathered in Velansar's tent, waiting for the briefing on their assault on Tempest Keep. The scout captain smiled at her. "Felt bad I didn't notice he was gone. But don't worry, madam, I'll keep a special eye out for him in the future."

Saire found herself smiling. "Thank you."

The rangy elf's eyes moved down her body and back up, not lewdly but observantly. "You're looking better than you did. Good to see you washed and dressed properly. I was starting to feel like I was fighting alongside truly evil people every time I looked at you stumbling along at the back of the wagons."

Saire reached out and squeezed his hand, then released it and turned away. Hardal had been kinder to her than the others, but he hadn't gone out of his way to help her. Maybe he thought that was her father's job, and didn't want to interfere.

The tent flaps parted and Lokiv strode into the tent. Immediately all conversation ceased. The human moved over to the desk at the back of the tent and shoved it into the middle of the space, then without ceremony swept all the papers and nicknacks it had held onto the floor. Without preamble Lokiv began. "My interrogation of the Draenei prisoner gave me limited but useful intelligence on the target and the disposition of its defenders. Using it I have drawn up a plan of attack."

As the blood elves watched silently Lokiv drew five small objects from a pocket within his cloak and tossed them into the air over the desk, then made a curious gesture. Rather than falling the objects lined up in the air, the four smaller ones making a square box with the larger one in the center and behind. "Tempest Keep and its four satellite structures," he said calmly. "All five are dimensional ships, capable of travel alone or in tandem, and all able to pass through the Twisting Nether at speed to reach other worlds. Tempest Keep is how the draenei came to this world, and while they and the naaru they serve have mostly abandoned these structures while they carry out their own tasks on Outland, a token resistance still remains, in the form of Draenei refugees and a single guardian Naaru.

"According to the most recent scout reports, it hovers just off the edge of this continent-sized island. As when we last assaulted it, it holds one single bridge to the continent, where an encampment of Draenei refugees huddles. The four satellite structures are the Arcatraz," he made a gesture and the top left floating object quivered in place, "the Botanica," the bottom left quivered, "the Mechanar," the bottom right quivered, "and the Exodar," the top right quivered.

Lokiv made a gesture, and the entire pattern shifted down until it rested near the desk. A penknife lifted up from the floor to connect to the main structure, and the other four structures closed in and connected with it as well. "The four satellite structures are positioned between the main structure and the continent, protecting against any possible attack. However, as this is a naaru construct it possesses no weaponry. The satellite structures are not military in nature, but all serve various uses.

"The Arcatraz is where the naaru keep powerful beings they deem too dangerous to let roam free. As the naaru refuse to destroy, containment is their only other option. Aside from draenei technicians maintaining the containment fields keeping these inmates imprisoned, there are few soldiers to speak of in this satellite.

"The Botanica is where food is grown and air is refreshed for the entire structure. It also holds samples of various interesting lifeforms that are currently being studied. As with the Arcatraz, this satellite is mostly manned by technicians and is poorly defended.

"The Mechanar is where repairs to the ship's systems are carried out. It is also the machinist's bay and holds reserve power for the structure. As with the Botanica and Arcatraz, it has few defenses, although draenei smiths have begun making use of the structure to craft weapons and armor, and so soldiers might be encountered there.

"Finally, we have the Exodar," Lokiv made the top right satellite quiver once more. "Pay attention, for this satellite is integral to our plans. It is where the civilians of the station are kept, as well as a large bulk of the refugees. It is full of defenseless females and children, and so holds more than a mere token defensive force." Saire jerked her head up, shocked at what she was hearing. Lokiv noticed her reaction, but he ignored it as he continued.

"All four satellite structures are connected to the main one by narrow bridges. According to the protocol tortured out of the draenei prisoner, when under attack the bridge connecting the main structure to the camp is demolished, and the entire structure withdraws a safe distance." He made a gesture, and the penknife fell away, the model raising and backing away. "If it comes under aerial attack protocol is for all nonessential personnel to evacuate to the Exodar, which phases away entirely, going to a safe location where it cannot be followed. If it is determined that the attack force is overwhelming, the remainder of the structure flees as well. Because of this, any attempt we make will have to be swift and well coordinated, or Tempest Keep will slip through our grasp as it did the first time."

"How do we know it won't anyway?" Velansar demanded.

Lokiv smiled. "Because the protocols are highly complex and very detailed. They are followed rigidly. Because we know the protocols, we can exploit them and control the battle."

"And how would you propose to do this?" Theril asked. Unlike Velansar's belligerence, her father displayed only curiosity.

The human's smile widened. "In a way that will ensure that our resistance is minimal. There should be few casualties on either side.

. . . . .

Saire was one of the first to leave the tent after the council was finished. She was subdued, but also relieved. She had feared Lokiv really did mean to kill as many draenei as he could, when he began talking about the innocents on the Exodar. She was glad that was not the case.

"A moment of your time, Mage Firedge," Lokiv said, appearing at her side with near perfect silence.

Saire fought to hide her surprise. "Of course."

"I'm putting a difficult task on you, assigning you to capture the Arcatraz." The human stopped and turned to face her. "As a student of the arcane, and the most powerful spellcaster I can call on, you are perhaps the only one who can handle the situation."

"What situation?" Saire asked, feeling a cold shiver down her spine. She had feared this eventuality when he laid out her part in the attack plans, but she wanted him to confirm it.

And he did. "It might be that once the draenei guards realize the satellite is taken, they'll lower the containment fields and release the prisoners. This might prove to be an advantage, if any of them are willing to join our side. But if the naaru saw fit to hold them prisoner it's far more likely they'll be demons and other beings of chaos and evil, existing only to destroy. If so, you'll have to find a way to imprison them again, or destroy them."

The human paused, and she thought she detected a slight change in his tone. "Better if you can avoid such a scenario altogether. Give the draenei an opportunity to surrender, and they may not become so desperate that they loose the Arcatraz inmates on you."

Saire smiled at him, and her smile broadened when his expression became uncertain. She'd suspected it, of course, but it was all the more satisfying to have it confirmed. Lokiv, wielder of demonic magic and servant of a creature little better than a demon, was doing everything he could to preserve the draenei alive. "Don't think I don't know what you're trying," she said, staring intently into the bottomless pits that were his eyes. As hard as she tried, she couldn't see the humanity in them that his actions constantly suggested he possessed.

Lokiv's lips quirked. "What am I trying, mage? To once again sacrifice my morals in the name of my service to Stormrage by crafting a plan to attack a keep full of innocents?"

She shook her head. "You hid it well. Certainly your strategy is one of the best I could envision, assuming all your information is correct. It'll let us take the keep with minimum resistance. But whether we walked in and took it or cut our way through an army of defenders, one way or another we were going to take Tempest Keep. Your way allows us to do so with as few casualties on both sides as possible."

The smile was gone. Just for a moment she had a glimpse of... something... in his eyes. "You're saying I deliberately crafted this plan to preserve the lives of as many draenei as possible?"

"Didn't you?"

He turned away dismissively, and when he spoke his voice had a tinge of bitterness to it. "You attribute decency to my actions that they don't deserve. Look at me, Firedge. I've done nothing to hide my true nature from you. I'm a damned soul, serving no useful purpose but to destroy other damned souls."

He started to walk away but Saire, surprising herself with her daring, stepped forward and caught at his arm, turning him around. She had seen his strength, and knew that he could with little to no effort shrug her off, but instead he turned. "Had you walked away the attack would still have gone forward, all the bloodier and more vicious for your lack of participation. You were willing to lead it and save as many lives as you could, while at the same time bearing the burden of the innocents you couldn't save."

He was staring down at her hand on his arm with a sort of blank incomprehension. "Let go of my arm," he said flatly.

Instead she turned him around even more, so he was fully facing her. "Look at you, human? Look at us. We're all damned souls, and we've all been banished to purgatory." Then she stepped forward, pressing her body against his, and kissed him.

His eyes widened in surprise, the first emotion she'd seen from him that didn't seem carefully calculated and rigidly controlled. She was surprised herself, at her boldness as much as that she'd even desired to kiss this human in the first place. But she didn't pull away, and more surprising neither did he. Then his arm looped around her waist, pulling her more tightly to him, and he kissed her back with shocking intensity. With little apparent effort he lifted her feet off the ground and carried her to his tent, spinning them both around and tossing her onto his makeshift bed.

Saire landed lightly and pushed back up to meet him halfway as he approached, tugging him down on top of her. His body under her hands was scrawny and sticklike, but she didn't care; something in his eyes burned deep into her soul, inflaming her passion. She gasped as his hands began caressing her, far more familiarly and possessively than she'd expected, after all his protests of being uninterested in sex. His lips burned like fire against hers, and she shuddered as they traced down her throat to the hollow where the side of her neck met her collarbone.

Then he pulled away, casually tossing off the ragged cloak he still wore. And though she'd done this hundreds of times, Saire's hands still trembled slightly as she pulled her shirt up over her head.

. . . . .

_People looking at a smiling fellow never expect the dagger he sticks them with._

It had been one of the first lessons Jovalin had taught him, when the thief had taken him off the streets. A dirty urchin, begging, stealing, and fighting other urchins for whatever scraps he could find in the wake of the orcish invasion through southern Quel'thalas. He owed his life to the man, and for more than just that.

_You're angry, lad. We all are. But if you lash out at anyone who crosses you that anger is going to get you killed, directly or at the gallows. Better to banish it with laughter, genuine as you can make it, and only let it out when you need it._ Another thing Jovalin had taught him.

Hiezal leaned back, staring at the fascinating sky above, and pretended to take a massive swig of his brandy flask. Really, with all the drinking everyone thought he did, he would have to have had a cache of liquor large enough to fill a wagon. How had no one noticed before that he always drank from the same flask? The answer was obvious, of course: people didn't think about it because his drunken antics were beneath their notice. And a good thing, too, since he had a terrible head for drink and had only stolen four flasks. Most of them had gone when he'd shared the liquor with others, and he was down to an eighth or so of his last one. It didn't help that he'd given a large portion of his first flask to Saire after she'd been hurt by those red orcs.

His contentment fled, and he sighed and looked back down at the ground. _Damnit, I made myself sad_. Thinking of Saire always did that to him. His inane smile didn't even flicker, though.

He remembered the first time he'd seen her. A plump, round-faced child peeking at him with wide blue-green eyes from behind her father's leg, copper hair flying wild every which way as her head disappeared the moment he looked at her. Adorable, of course. She'd always been adorable, though at the time he had only felt the affection a young bodyguard feels for his master's child.

She had adored him, naturally. What young girl doesn't adore an older boy who is kind to her? She had followed him everywhere on his rounds, trained with him as he trained, loudly proclaiming that she loved him more than anything and when she grew up she'd marry him. He remembered tussling her hair and sending her inside before her father came out and caught the uncouth peasant teaching his daughter to fight with knives.

He had barely noticed as the years passed and she went from girl to woman, he still with that same amused affection, she with that same blind adoration. Until one day, or more accurately night, he found her in his quarters and she informed him quite sternly that she was neither a child nor his sister. Lying there on his bed like a queen, she'd expressed these arguments in the, ahem, barest possible terms.

Hiezal had to admit, he had been relatively blind to the growing up his tagalong had done. But with indisputable evidence of her womanhood, ahem, laid out so elegantly in front of him, he found her, ahem, points hard to argue against.

Not that he'd been much in the mood to argue. Jovalin had always told him arguing against what was plain to see was a fool's path. So he and Saire had found better things to fill their time with.

Those had been happy days, sneaking away to be together. His smile had been genuine, back then. He had thought that passion would exist forever between them.

Then one perfect night, watching the moon peek through rustling leaves and holding her warmth close, she'd turned to him and without remorse or care told him that she was going away to Silvermoon to train in the arts of magecraft. He had thought nothing of it, and promised to join her there and continue things as they were. And he had seen in her eyes even before she'd spoken that there was nothing in her opinion of him but fond affection. She fully intended to leave him behind without a second thought.

It was the first time he'd realized that he wasn't the only one who could smile without meaning it, though he hadn't smiled again for a long time afterwards.

But he'd learned to smile again. Learned to laugh and jest at everything, as if nothing in life mattered. As Jovalin had said, nobody could take him seriously if he himself took nothing seriously. So he slipped through life with an inane grin, shouldering aside the contempt everyone felt for him. Even Saire, even within his arms, felt for him.

None of them knew how close they were to a remorseless dagger in their heart. He needed but a reason and an opportunity.

But not Saire. Long ago he had sworn to die at her whim, and even when she laughed at him, when she spurned him, when she despised him, he still felt the same. For her his smile would be true, for her his laugh would ring genuine. He'd long ago accepted that he would never truly have her, but it remained his fond hope, and he cherished every moment she remained in his sight, every opportunity to caress her flawless skin, every chance to bury his nose in her silken hair and fill his lungs with her scent.

Fortune was an amusing bitch, always glad to give you what you desired and deny you it at the same time.

"What think you of the human's plan, bodyguard Nova?"

Hiezal turned, surprised at being addressed by Velansar Redcrest. The Spell Breakers tended to keep to themselves unless forced to do otherwise, and never associated with others except with bad grace. "It seems as if it could work," he responded lightly. "Assuming Lokiv knows as much of these draenei as he claims."

Further surprise, Redcrest came and sat down beside him. Hiezal hesitated, then reluctantly offered the elf his flask of brandy; never let it be said he wasn't polite, even to those who had been rude. The muscular Spell Breaker took the flask after a moment and took a careful sip, then returned it. "It seems a major assumption to make, don't you think?" he finally said. "Lure a force that outnumbers us two to one onto this Exodar, then mount a main attack and hope they stick to their supposed protocols and flee with the innocents."

Hiezal laughed. "Oh certainly, our fearless leader is giving the blueskins a chance to flee."

The Spell Breaker faced him directly. "And what if they don't? Or better, what if they flee at first, then think better of it and come back. The human seems confident our enemies are simply going to give us Tempest Keep. He assures us this god-being naaru will not pose a threat, the blueskins will all run to save themselves, and a treasure engineers and arcanists would sell their souls for on Azeroth will simply fall into our hands. And if these things do not happen, the battle goes very ugly very fast. Lokiv has made few contingency plans, save to retreat if the resistance proves greater than anticipated."

Hiezal nodded slowly, faking a deep pull of his brandy. "You obviously think otherwise."

Redcrest nodded sharply. "Prince Kael'thas has made it abundantly clear to me that failing to take Tempest Keep is not an option. It is too vital to our plans on Outland, to the very survival of our race. So I've prepared for contingencies the human refuses to address."

"And I have some role to play?"

"Of course," Redcrest said, sounding surprised. "You're to lead the feint aboard the Exodar. You have the most vital role of all." The Spell Breaker abruptly stood. "Come."

Hiezal warily stood and followed Redcrest out of camp. They traveled in silence for a long while, Hiezal walking behind the Spell Breaker and Redcrest disdaining conversation. Fifteen minutes passed, maybe more, as they continued to traverse the broken terrain of Netherstorm. Hiezal was just about to worry that Redcrest was taking him out here to murder him when he saw motion out of the corner of his eye.

Hiezal's hand darted to his sword as the shadows moved, but Redcrest turned and gripped his arm, motioning him to be easy. A moment later the shadows resolved themselves into the forms of three of the odd ethereals. Hiezal recognized the one in the lead as the Cryo-Engineer fellow who'd escorted them to Tempest Keep the first time around, but only because it was wearing wrappings of fine mageweave while the other two wore more tattered and dirty cloth.

"How did they know we were here?" Hiezal asked as the ethereals approached.

Redcrest waved dismissively. "Hav'naki was kind enough to provide me with a means of communicating with them, should further opportunities for mutual gain present themselves. As we flew I contacted the ethereals and told them to meet me here."

"Why?" Before Redcrest could answer the ethereals drew within earshot, and the Spell Breaker motioned him to be silent and stepped forward, bowing smoothly.

"You arrive late, Master Redcrest," the bandaged figure said politely. "We had wondered if the situation changed."

"No changes, Cryo-Engineer Hav'naki. Events played out as I'd feared they would, and your services are indeed necessary."

"What services?" Hiezal demanded. "Why are we dealing with the mummies again?"

Though it should have been impossible, Hav'naki managed to convey affront without the use of facial expressions or body language. "Shall I regard your companion as a trader, Master Redcrest?"

"Gods of Azeroth, no," Redcrest replied, sounding appalled at the notion. Hiezal knew enough from listening to Saire's natterings about her visit with the ethereals to know he was being insulted in some way. "May I present Hiezal Nova, who will be leading the assault on the Exodar."

"Ah," the ethereals regarded him solemnly. "Our volunteer."

Hiezal took a step backwards, not liking the way Hav'naki had said that. "I haven't volunteered for a damn thing."

"For gods' sake, Nova, calm down." Redcrest scowled in genuine annoyance. "As I said, we've prepared a contingency. The ethereals are familiar with naaru/draenei technology. They've worked with it before. And although they've never encountered anything so sophisticated as a dimensional drive they should be able to talk you through what you need to know."

"And as promised," Hav'naki said with the polite fussiness of one who, never doubting his trade partner, still endeavors to make certain that both sides are in complete understanding, "the exchange will be knowledge for knowledge. We tell you what you need to know about the Exodar's dimension drive, and you provide us unlimited access to study Tempest Keep's systems, with the exception of actual dismantlement of said technology."

"Of course." Redcrest sounded impatient. "And anything you learn you will teach us as well. A mutually beneficial arrangement."

The ethereal began mouthing a few polite niceties, and Hiezal interrupted impatiently. "Tell me again where I come into this. I seem to have been told I had a role to play, right before you two started haggling like Thalassian artifact merchants at the Malser Bazaar."

Redcrest ignored him. "Teach us what we'll need to know, Cryo-Engineer. Nova, I suggest you pay close attention, because it's certainly going to be complicated. And, while I mean this in the kindest possible way, you're not exactly educated in this sort of thing."

"Fuck you. I'm not a damn gas cloud wrapped in bandaids, happy to take insults simply because they're put graciously. And you still haven't told me what the hell you want me to do."

Hav'naki looked surprised. "Have you not figured it out yet? We want you to ensure that when the draenei warriors flee aboard the Exodar, they cannot return. And if they choose not to flee, that you see to it they do anyway."

. . . . .

Much, much later Saire lay limply on top of Lokiv, her limbs tangled with his. She'd expected him to pull away after he was done with her, but he seemed to have no objection to their continued intimacy.

For her part she didn't think she had the strength to get up off him, or even shift to a more comfortable position. For all his talk of having no interest in sex he'd proven more proficient at lovemaking than any partner she'd ever had, although she generally preferred it less rough. Without even needing any cues from her he'd somehow known what she wanted and had given it to her, and she'd found herself responding with equal intensity.

Now that they seemed to be finished, however, she couldn't help but wonder what came next. She'd never thought she'd be attracted to any human, let alone one as pale and emaciated as Lokiv, but she found that she was. In the past months they'd moved far beyond the point where she could excuse her tryst as an attempt to get information from him. For all his acid tongue he'd proven forthcoming with information they needed, and that was better than most leaders she'd had. For all the animal carnality of their encounter she honestly had no desire for romance with the demon hunter, and from what she knew of him was certain he had no desire for it either.

Before she could dwell on it too deeply, however, she heard him muttering beneath her, his lips brushing lightly against her ear. She didn't recognize the language he spoke, but she knew enough to recognize spellcasting. Still limp and weak from her exertions she lifted herself up on one elbow, looking down at him, and from the corner of her eye saw him make a curt gesture with one hand.

Fatigue, deeper and more all-encompassing than she'd ever felt before, fell over her shoulders like a blanket, and almost before she thought to be alarmed she found the warm blackness of sleep enveloping her.


	20. The Last Exile

Hey Everyone. Sorry for the long, long, _long_ delay in updating. I got caught up in another project, burned myself out, and spent the last few weeks going "unnngh" whenever I thought about writing.

Here's the next chapter :).

Chapter Nineteen

The Last Exile

To say that Netherstorm was as different as night and day when the sun was down was such a vast oversimplification that it approached the point of being ludicrous. The residual energies that permeated the continent during its time near completely immersed in the Twisting Nether remained in part even after being dragged back to join the other continents of Outland. By night that power almost pulsed in tandem with the visible but untouchable energies that blazed in the sky.

A netherwind blew past Nex where he stood atop a low rise, overlooking the preparations being made around the nether drakes. That wind was carried from the void beyond the edge of the continent, and he could feel arcane energy within it, as unreachable as the sun which would soon rise. But that wind also carried the shadows which permeated the Nether, and with those he filled his reserves until they roiled within him. He rarely filled his reserves to capacity, for the chaotic energy he wielded became exponentially more unmanageable the more of it he held. But he did so today.

For today he'd face a divine being.

Blood elves rushed about the nether drakes, some using clever fingers to fashion riding harnesses so the larger drakes could carry more passengers, some organizing into groups for the trip over. Three parties of five to assault the Botanica, the Arcatraz, and the Mechanar respectively, and a group of twenty-five to raid Tempest Keep itself. Then five archers and five swordsmen for the ruse on the Exodar, led by Nova.

The rest, all archers, formed ranks off to the side. The huge unwieldy night elf longbows would be of limited use mounted on a drake, and of even less use in the close confines of Tempest Keep and its satellites. But they too had a role to play: two days ago he'd watched with his Eye of Kilrogg as a group of draenei reached the edge of the continent and Tempest Keep drifted closer to meet them. That group was led by an almost terrifyingly powerful creature whose holy energy made Puros Lightfinder, the next most powerful wielder of the Light Nex had faced, seem like a novice in comparison.

Following that creature's arrival Tempest Keep had once more formed a bridge with the continent, and refugees had streamed down it and begun the feverish work of rebuilding a settlement. The archers would have the task of leading the first strike, assaulting the refugees as a diversion that would draw eyes, and perhaps even troops, to the continent. They were led by one of Dor'ane's lieutenants, for Dor'ane insisted he could be of use in the floating fortress itself.

Though with that powerful creature's presence the task was more difficult, he'd decided not to change his plans. Although it made Nova's feint even more vital; it was imperative that the guardsman draw this powerful creature to the Exodar before that satellite split away and fled with the innocents. Nex could, possibly, face such an enemy and survive, but he had to save his focus for the naaru itself.

Near the base of the low rise he saw Dor'ane, Theril, and Redcrest meet and converse quietly for a few moments. Then the three turned and climbed toward him. "Preparations are complete," Theril said. "We're ready to move out."

Nex nodded. "Dor'ane, Redcrest, you've picked out your groups to assault the Botanica and Mechanar?"

Dor'ane merely nodded, but Redcrest scowled. "Three of my Spell Breakers and a promising fighter from among the recruits. We'll get to this Botanica's control room and bring it under our control."

"I have no doubt. Remember haste, however. The Botanica is the largest of the satellites and it may be a maze inside. Don't waste your time slaughtering gardeners."

The Spell Breaker's scowl deepened. "I know my business."

Nex nodded and moved on to other topics. Together they quickly went over the plan one more time, addressing complications and lines of communication. He was just about ready to dismiss them and begin the attack when he noticed Saire storming up the rise toward them. It was technically accurate to say her eyes blazed with indignation, although for most women that wouldn't be literal. Crimson flames obscured them entirely, glowing with a power that suggested she either had a powerful spell in reserve or she was seriously pissed off. Probably both. Nex fought the urge to throw up a protective shield.

"I'll have to ask you to excuse us, gentlemen," she said stiffly when she arrived. The other three elves took one look at her and made polite but hasty excuses, fleeing down the hill as quick as they could and maintain their dignity.

Once they were gone an ominous silence settled. Nex regarded her curiously, while she glowered at him in response. Finally, as if she'd realized he wasn't going to say anything, she spoke. "What the fuck?"

Nex arched an eyebrow. "Some pressing issue you wish to discuss with me?"

For a moment he thought she was going to slap him, but she seemed to think better of it. "Why the hell did you put me to sleep?" she demanded.

Nex considered trying some deception that would calm her anger, some white lie. But he had little experience with women, and his attempts to calm Lynda so long ago had always ended worse than simple truth. "I have heard that after coitus women feel an overwhelming desire to engage in conversation. It seemed the easiest way to avoid such unpleasantness. Besides, you needed your sleep."

This time she did try to slap him. He caught her wrist easily before the blow landed and then released it, and she didn't try to slap him again. "The easiest way?" she said in disbelief. "Gods damn! I'm no stranger to using someone for sex, but that was callous even by my standards."

Nex shrugged. "It was what it was. I told you from the beginning I wasn't interested in your charms. If for some reason last night's activities were significant to you it's your own problem and none of mine."

She put one hand on her hip, glaring at him. At the very least the fiery glow in her eyes was diminishing. "And I suppose you don't want me coming around your tent tonight for a repeat performance?"

For a moment he hesitated, torn between wanting to say yes and no at the same time. Then he shrugged again. "As long as it doesn't get in the way of anything more important. Just don't expect anything more from me than what I give, or demand changes to any other part of our interpersonal contacts. If you want to be my slam toy that's fine by me, but we're not lovers and we never will be."

He turned away, nearly confident she wouldn't try to burn him to ashes as he walked away. After that there was no way in hell she'd degrade herself enough to come to his tent, and that was probably for the best. Still, she'd been a fairly good lover. And he counted it a definite plus that she hadn't taken the usual succubus tact of tormenting and humiliating him during.

He mounted Brightpoint, three other elves joining him atop the nether drake's back. The drake shifted eagerly beneath him, causing the elves to mutter in unease. **Why are you the only person here who isn't nervous****?** the drake asked with the same innocence as a child asking a loaded question like where babies came from.

_No matter what happens there will be no good outcome today_.

Brightpoint huffed and shrugged his shoulders, drawing a frightened exclamation from one of the elves. **You're a bit of a buzzkill, you know?**

Rather than answer Nex tapped the drake's neck. _You remember the path. Move out, but slow enough for the other drakes to follow_. Brightpoint huffed again and sprang into the air, wings stretching out to catch the netherwind. Behind him the other fourteen drakes rose in a ragged bunch, but their fel orc riders quickly organized them into a tight formation. Down below the archers broke into a trot towards the refugee encampment.

Nex's backward glance lingered on the fel orcs for a moment. He'd specifically ordered them not to fight today, the only exception being if draenei directly attacked the nether drakes. He was hoping for a relatively bloodless capture, and that would never happen if the crazed fel orcs got involved. The creatures had responded sullenly to the orders, but he felt fairly confident they would obey.

After what seemed a very short flight, low to the ground and giving Tempest Keep a wide berth, Brightpoint finally winged out over the edge of the continent. Without a word of warning the drake banked into a steep dive, the cliff rushing by behind them, and Nex involuntarily tightened his legs around the drake as the Maw thousands of miles below came into view directly in front of him. Even though his position was secure he felt like at any moment he would tumble over Brightpoint's head and fall to his death. The elves had made a few frightened noises during some of Brightpoint's more exuberant maneuvers on the continent, but as the drake dove every single one of them broke into a terrified scream.

That scream didn't end for several minutes, until they were far enough down that the curve of the continent would hide them from Tempest Keep's view. In spite of himself Nex couldn't help but feel a vicious surge of satisfaction at their discomfiture. Small payback for being trapped in four foot square box, but satisfying all the same.

. . . . .

"What if the human gets wind of this?" Hiezal said, somewhat proud that he could still speak fairly normally after the gut-wrenching drop.

He was on Redcrest's drake with the Spell Breaker and the four other members of the Botanica raiding party. The drake, largest of the brood Lokiv had brought, was nevertheless struggling under the weight of six elves and a fel orc. For a terrifying moment as the drake tried to level out of its dive Hiezal had been certain it wouldn't be able to and they'd all plummet to their deaths.

Redcrest, sitting directly behind the fel orc, frowned at him over his shoulder. "Don't worry about Lokiv."

"Damned if I won't. This goes directly against his orders, and he's already tried to kill me once. You ever had your mana burned out of you?"

Redcrest laughed. "You saw how he was after the battle with the red orcs, Nova. In this battle he has a god-being itself to subdue. When it is all over he will collapse, helpless, and we'll finally have an opportunity to be free of his onerous command."

Hiezal stared at the Spell Breaker in mounting shock, not quite able to believe what he was hearing. Oh certainly, he had no love for the human, and he'd gone along willingly enough when they'd tried to kill him after their first abortive attempt at taking the floating fortress. But at that time the human had served no purpose. Now not only was he going to be instrumental in taking Tempest Keep, but he was going to render himself helpless doing it.

Not only that, Lokiv had worked hard to see the people of Corona's Blaze safely through some very difficult times, and for all his heritage and mocking words he seemed genuinely intent on leading well. And after sacrificing all his strength to take the keep, they were going to repay his efforts with treachery?

One thing he had never wanted to be was like the humans. But this seemed exactly what the Alliance army had done to their people.

Redcrest seemed to sense his thoughts. "Do not think we dare kill a servant of Master Illidan, Nova. But we will take him captive in the name of Prince Kael'thas. Do not judge me, for all I do I do for my people."

Hiezal made no more argument. Soon enough their flight took them to the designated waiting point, and for a minute or so the drakes hovered, wings beating hard to keep them in place as they drifted slightly one way and the next. Hiezal felt like he was in the middle of hanging sheets during a windstorm with all those wings beating around him. Then he heard a grinding noise from up above, and a hundred yards to their right clumps of stone skittered down the cliffside. The bridge. Lokiv raised a hand, and his drake surged upward, wings churning. The rest of the drakes followed in smooth formation.

The first thing the entire group would do was circle the Exodar, their few casters throwing spells and their few ranged attackers hurling projectiles to make the attack seem sincere. Behind the drake he was on two more drakes moved up into close position, the drakes carrying the elves who would be dropped off to directly assault the Exodar's main entrance.

"Remember, elves," Hiezal called to his soldiers as the three-drake formation approached the lowest balcony, where he'd be dropped off. "Strike to wound. Herd them deeper into the complex and do everything you can to sow confusion and chaos. We're here to lure the defenders of Tempest Keep to the Exodar, not to slaughter innocents."

Lothiel, his nominal second among the former guards of Corona's Blaze, laughed sharply from his position on the lefthand drake. "Sowing greater confusion, eh? That the excuse the human gave for his orders to carebear the goatmen?"

Hiezal fixed the man with a mocking smile. "That's the order I'm giving, Noiver. You'll have plenty of fighting to do while retreating to the drakes after hundreds of draenei soldiers swarm the Exodar to chase you off. No sense searching for honorable kills among old women and suckling babes."

Lothiel glared at him and spat over the side. "Strike to wound," he repeated.

Then Redcrest's drake was clawing at a tiny ledge in front of a tunnel that led deeper into the Exodar, while the other two drakes continued on toward the main entrance and their own part in the diversion. Hiezal was relieved to see the tunnel was exactly where the ethereals had said it would be. But as the drake flapped wildly and tried to find a perch it became apparent that disembarking was going to be more tricky than he'd expected.

"Go, you worthless rogue!" Redcrest shouted over his shoulder.

Hiezal stared at the Spell Breaker in shock. "What, you want me to jump ten feet to a tiny entrance with an endless drop to horrifying death below?"

Redcrest ducked low, making room for him to get a bit closer to the tunnel's entrance. "The situation's not going to get any more ideal the longer you sit there whining."

Bristling with affront, Hiezal opened his mouth to reply. Then he glanced down at the drop below and felt his mouth dry. He prided himself on his agility, but this was absurd. There was no way in hell he was going to try this with...

The drake gave a plaintive bellow, and the fel orc twisted and snarled at them. Behind him the other four members of the Botanica assault party were cursing and shoving at him. "Gods damnit," Hiezal snarled. "Keep the drake still you pigfucking savage!" he shouted at the fel orc. Then he awkwardly pushed up into a crouch, gripping the harness with white fingers. After a quick glance at the tunnel, and another for the drop below which he sincerely wished afterwards that he hadn't seen, he gritted his teeth and leapt.

In truth his fears were unfounded. He _was_ uncommonly agile, and the drake had been fairly steady beneath him. He landed in the center of the tunnel, which turned out to be wider than it had seemed, and ducked into a smooth roll, coming up to his feet. Smiling in triumph he turned to give Redcrest a rude gesture, but the drake was already gone, even the beating of its wings fast fading from hearing.

With a low grumble he pulled his hood down to shadow his face, tucking his head to hide his features. Then he began moving stealthily along the tunnel. It wasn't a crude thing hacked out of stone, but a perfectly square passage of some smooth, shiny material with lights every five yards, odd glass lamps set into the ceiling that didn't flicker the way flames would, but gave no feel of arcane energy fueling them. He passed a few small ducts and shafts along the passage, but he ignored them for now.

About ten yards in the passage curved at a ninety-degree angle and ended in a door. For a moment he just stared at it, feeling his heart in his throat as the thought occurred to him that it might be locked. It had no doorknob or handle that he could see, and in fact was so perfectly fitted to the doorway that the seem was thin as a hair, almost invisible. "Shit," he muttered, moving tentatively forward and pressing his hand to the smooth metal.

When it moved beneath him he almost squealed like a girl, and he did leap back. At his touch the door slid open, not on hinges but into the ceiling above. He glanced at the place where it had disappeared warily for a moment, then darted inside. As soon as he was through he heard a soft hiss, and the door descended once more. This tunnel went on ten feet or so and ended in another ninety-degree curve, and from around that bend he could hear the subdued susurration of conversation. Dozens of conversations from dozens of voices.

He crept forward as silent as a mouse, scarce daring to breathe as he listened to the babble of alien tongues. When he reached the corner he very, very slowly peeked around it, just enough to see.

The corridor stretched another ten feet or so then opened into a room. A huge room. And that room was packed with draenei. From the look of it they were all refugees, their clothes a bit worn and ragged, their faces a bit gaunt. They huddled in crude shelters along the walls and in pockets throughout the room so that there was barely space to move among them. A few children played, running among the groups laughing and racing, but even most of the young ones seemed subdued.

Hiezal edged backwards out of view, struggling to control his breathing. He was going to have to get through that room.

One thing was for sure, though; when it came to diversions, the Exodar couldn't have been a better target. If this room was any indication of the rest of the satellite then it was packed with noncombatants, the hallways and rooms overflowing. And judging by the fact that some had even formed crude privacy shelters in any open space they could, barely making room for passers-by, it was obvious they had been there for a while and meant to be there for a while longer. Defenders would have the very devil of a time pushing through such throngs, especially if they were panicked and trying to flee the other way. If he'd ordered his men to slaughter these blueskins they could have easily cut down dozens, perhaps hundreds, with just the ten men he'd been assigned.

Truth be told, looking at these helpless idiots he was half afraid his people at the main entrance to the Exodar _would_ fall among them like raptors among murloc tadpoles, whatever Lokiv's orders or even his own. He could only hope the draenei would be quick to defend the structure, and his people would be able to flee without needing to do too much damage.

Until then, it was time to do some damage of his own. He took another deep breath then ducked around the corner and strode along the corridor to the entrance of the massive room. As he did so he was painfully aware that any one of these people thronging the space could identify him as an intruder and raise the alarm. And in the midst of them, without anyone to watch his back, even an army of toothless geezers could bring him down.

There was only one thing to do.

Hiezal had always believed that when it came to infiltration, being brazen was just as effective a tactic as being furtive. Especially among such large crowds when they weren't expecting any foul play. So he pulled his hood lower with one gloved hand, tightening his cloak around the "tail" he'd made with his sword sheath and a blanket with the other, and strode right into the throng.

People barely glanced up as he passed, though some murmured greetings in their odd tongue. A pair of laughing children playing tag ducked around him, one using him as a temporary shield before breaking away with a fresh lead on her pursuer. The deeper into the room he went the more relaxed he became, his stride becoming more confident. He was just another draenei, with goofy hooves and a forehead plate and a tail. Or really horns, since he was too short and slender to be a male and more closely resembled a female.

Actually the females were pretty cute, for all their tails and horns and blue skin. Their faces were delicate, with smooth skin and slender curves. Perverse as it seemed, he couldn't help but hum a little with appreciation as he passed a group of females seated in a circle and doing something with a strange device in the middle, all the while giggling and pushing at each other like naughty schoolgirls.

One of them glanced at him, and from her seated position she could see up into his hood. Hiezal jerked and turned away slightly, thoughts of pretty aliens disappearing in panic as he quickened his step and pulled his coat's collar up higher. He had to get out of here.

The room opened up into several more corridors at regular intervals, some curving up, some seeming to go straight along this level into other areas. His darting eyes found one that curved downward, and he altered his course to make for it.

Lokiv had claimed the engine rooms for these structures would be deep within their bowels. It made sense, for security purposes as well as convenience, since the dimension drives themselves were on the underside, holding the things up and moving them around. He hoped the engine rooms wouldn't be isolated to their own part of the structure with only one entrance to them, or this downward ramp wouldn't take him any closer to his goal than an upward ramp.

It was fairly wide, and there were refugees crowding it to either side as well, although they left more space to walk through. He quickened his step, winding down and down into the bowels of the Exodar, until the ramp ended in a downward-sloping corridor, and beyond into another small room with a few more ramps and corridors leading off it.

Thankfully he seemed to be getting somewhere, since the farther down he went along the sloping hallways the less crowded with refugees they became. Areas where critical operations were carried out would be kept clear of ragtag.

He'd just barely entered a stretch of empty hallway, leaving the refugees behind completely, when the crystalline lights along the walls and ceiling pulsed purple for an instant, accompanied by a loud, piercing tone. The lighting faded to its normal color for a moment, then went purple again with another tone.

Guess his people had begun their attack.

A group of draenei rushed down the hallway towards him, holding an assortment of large purple-headed hammers, odd guns with glowing crystals for bores, and strange swords that were hollow in the middle in a way that should have made them flimsy, were it not for the fact that their edges looked so sharp the air seemed to blur around them. They all wore either robes or heavy armor of a sort he'd never seen before.

Time to see if the refugees choking the hallways would really slow them down. Hiezal stepped to the side and went still, nodding to the creatures as they passed. One of the ones at the head shouted at him in their strange gobbledygook language, and Hiezal nodded again, hoping the gesture wasn't the draenish equivalent of an obscenity.

Thankfully they passed him by, more intent on the danger elsewhere, and Hiezal continued strolling along the hallway. As soon as they were out of sight he broke into a sprint. Time was running out, and he had to get to the control room before it was too late.

He needn't have worried, since after only one more ramp he reached a corridor where the floor curved beneath him. Since the bottom of the Exodar had been curved he was certain he'd reached the lowest level. Even better, up ahead the corridor opened into a large chamber, and it was like none of the rooms he'd seen before. Through the opening he could see odd glowing lights, flat circular disks with images moving on them, weird banks of crystal and metal, and a few draenei working feverishly among them.

He couldn't be certain, but he had a feeling he'd found the engine room.

. . . . .

A slam toy. That gaping asshole.

Saire snarled to herself and unleashed a fireball at a metallic sheet along the side of the Exodar that was most likely a window. It hit square and flickered feebly along the metal, leaving a few gouges and an area of molten glass, then fizzled out. She was using her lowest rank spells for this, since it was meant to be only a diversion anyway and she had a whole satellite to subdue with only five people. Behind her her two remaining apprentices flung their own spells, though far more infrequently since they had smaller mana pools to draw upon and lowest rank for them was far nearer their best efforts.

A stream of arcane missiles flew out at them, and the fel orc guiding her drake grunted curses in Orcish and flew them farther away from the structure. From below another drake swooped in, the handful of archers on its back loosing arrows at the mages that had attacked her drake. A few of the arcane missiles reached them even after evading, skittering along the nether drake's smoky dark hide. The drake gave a plaintive bellow that seemed more complaining than pained.

She should have known better than to trust a human. A _mudman_. Although Lokiv was more of a shitman, drawn from shit and still reeking of it. She couldn't believe she'd let such a sickly, foul, pustulant little monster grope her. Destroyed Sunwell, she hated him!

Of their own accord her eyes went searching among the nether drakes swooping and circling around the embattled Exodar. For all that it was merely a diversion the fighting was going fierce, draenei desperately firing their odd crystalline guns and unleashing spells. It wasn't hard to see Lokiv, however, for his drake hovered above the Exodar, its rider so bristling with power that it seemed shadows swirled around him.

"_Vasu, mishak, devan, ishnat_," she murmured absently, glaring daggers at his dark form. She could feel power surging within her, and she unconsciously drew upon it, molded it into a spellform. She was halfway through the lengthy spell when she realized with shock that she was preparing a pyroblast attack against the human. She hastily released the spellform, absorbing the energy back into her mana pool. She wasn't sure whether she was horrified or terrified by what she'd been about to do; directly attacking Lokiv was as close as she could get to suicide short of leaping off her drake and falling to her death. But even worse was the realization that in spite of all her anger she didn't want to hurt him.

With tears she couldn't explain pricking at her eyes she looked away, towards the bulk of Tempest Keep. None of the satellites had separated from it, just as Lokiv had predicted. And also just as he'd predicted the thin bridges that connected the structures were swarming with draenei warriors. They were rushing to the bridge that connected Tempest Keep with the Exodar, rushing to defend the defenseless noncombatants on board the satellite. Just as Lokiv had predicted.

Her eyes darted up to where the Arcatraz hovered on the other side of Tempest Keep, at the same height as the Exodar. Warriors were rushing from it as well, emptying her target satellite of its defenders. Soon it would be time for her drake to veer off for its attack.

A dull _whump_ shivered the air around her, and she snapped her head around in time to see the top of the Exodar exploding, smooth stone and scraps of metal flying in all directions. Her father's most powerful spell, and Lokiv's signal. All around the Exodar drakes took wing to land atop the satellite, giving the appearance of disgorging attackers into the hole the human had blasted in its roof. A plausible reason why the elves and their drakes wouldn't be targeting the defenders rushing up the bridge to the Exodar, giving them free rein to board it unopposed.

Soon afterward she heard cracking noises and turned to see that the bridges connecting the Arcatraz, Botanica, and Mechanar to Tempest Keep were falling away as the satellites withdrew. Bereft of defenders the satellites were breaking contact with the main structure to make it harder to assault them. Yet again, just as Lokiv had predicted. She tapped the filthy fel orc drake rider sitting in front of her on the shoulder, pointing, and the filthy creature grunted and wheeled the drake around towards the Arcatraz.

"Prepare to assault the satellite," she told her people. Looking over her shoulder she could see their grim expressions.

She turned back, watching the satellite draw nearer. Below her Velansar and his troops on their drake were making for the Botanica. And somewhere behind her Hardal would be moving to take the Mechanar. She felt fierce excitement rising within her as she prepared her first spells and inspected her target, trying to guess where its engine and control rooms would be.

Lokiv could rot in hell. She had a job to do.

. . . . .

Hiezal had never strayed far from Corona's Blaze, the extent of his travels being a few visits to Silvermoon before it was destroyed. Since joining Kael'thas's army he'd heard veterans of the third war describe Kalimdor. The strange architecture of night elf structures, the amazing world tree. He'd even heard a secondhand account of a man who'd actually seen the Demon Lord Archimonde attack the World Tree and be caught in Malfurion's attack.

He'd heard of plenty of wondrous things. Incredible complexes unearthed by the dwarves which seemed to be relics of a race ancient even before the night elves rose to prominence. The wondrous city of Dalaran with its magical structures and automatons. The technocity of the gnomes where everything was done by machines.

But nothing he'd ever heard of or seen prepared him for his first view of the Exodar's control room.

It was filled with tables or workstations that rose up like mushrooms all over the floor, things of worked crystal and polished stone and metal that shone and pulsed with eerie patterns. Above these workstations images seemed to hover in midair. He'd seen magical projections before, but these were far more detailed and precise, as if he were seeing the things with his own eyes rather than in a projection. Along one wall a massive bank of crystal hummed with a power that made his teeth ache it was so focused and intense.

Three technicians worked frantically among the workstations. None of them seemed to be armed, and their main attention was on the crystals and three-dimensional projections they worked at, barely noticing as Hiezal entered.

He couldn't help but slow and stare at the projections, which featured realistic images of Tempest Keep and its satellites, complete with tiny drakes circling the Exodar in their ploy to make it seem as if the satellite was coming under full-scale attack, with his people in the night elves' purple armor storming the main entrance. It was amazing! The technology to view such things in real time from the within the safety of deep inside a fortress. Three-dimensional projections. Would the wonders of this floating fortress never cease?

As he watched he saw more than a hundred draenei soldiers swarming up the ramp that connected Tempest Keep to the Exodar, led by a massive draenei in robes whose face-tentacles extended down to his knees, whose very figure seemed to shine with blazing glory.

As soon as those soldiers were aboard the Exodar Hiezal saw the drakes immediately bank towards the other satellites and to Tempest Keep itself, more drakes flapping up from beneath each structure to disgorge blood elf raiders. The technician manning the station near the holographic display yelled a warning, his voice going from alarmed to frantic. Another technician rushed over, face pale as he desperately worked the crystals. The first technician was yelling at the second, something between a plea and a demand, and Hiezal saw the soldiers who'd just boarded the Exodar, suddenly faced with no enemy, begin turning back to the bridge to aid the other structures now coming under attack.

Then the first technician screamed something, slammed his hands down on a handful of controls, and the Exodar jerked. The second and third technicians yelled at the first, voices shrill with panic. They were obviously trying to get him to stop, but the first stayed his course, face pale with determination. On the holographic display the Exodar broke away from the other structures, the bridge that had connected it falling away in pieces, and began floating deeper into the nether away from the continent.

Hiezal couldn't help but feel a surge of jubilation. Lokiv had been right, the crazy bastard! The draenei of Exodar really _had_ abandoned the fight at the first opportunity, taking with them most of the soldiers who could have defended Tempest Keep.

Better yet, the panic of the moment had distracted the technicians to the point where this next part should be much easier. Hiezal strode forward confidently, and was nearly to the workstations when the nearest technician turned to him with a sense of urgency. "Krona kai kristor, mehat! Vishu et ata'me man'ari!"

Hiezal continued to stride forward as the creature waited for a response. The thing's sense of urgency faded to one of confusion, then panic. When he was in range Hiezal threw back his hood and smiled. "Krona kai kristor, motherfucker," he said, then lunged forward, drawing a dagger from his sleeve and slamming it into the horrified creature's eye.

The stricken technician began to fall noiselessly, but one of the other technicians turned at his words, and his mouth opened with shock. Hiezal leapt over the fallen draenei, drawing his sword with his free hand, and with a vicious backhand slash opened the second technician's throat before it could scream. The third one was still intent on whatever work she was about, frantically moving between two displays and manipulating the crystals beneath them. A female, sadly enough. She barely gave a sigh as Hiezal ran her through the left lung from behind, slumping to the floor before she was even aware of the danger.

A waste. The creature was attractive enough in her own right, and all three of them were obviously no fighters. But taking them prisoner would have been useless since the Exodar satellite was supposed to get away, and this room had three entrances, two of them open; any call for help might have been answered, and sealing it was going to be difficult enough as it was.

He needed to be quick.

Hiezal hurried to the entrances, pushing a glowing crystal beside each door to shut them. He had no idea how to lock them, so he left them as they were for the moment and moved back to the workstations with their dead technicians.

Once there he knelt, drawing the ethereal device from his cloak and setting it on the ground. A cryo-containment device, the ethereals had called it. He pushed a few buttons on it and the cube opened up oddly, splitting into four smaller cubes with each one drifting away from the others to leave a gap in the center. Energy leaked from between the four separating cubes in a cloud. "And here I thought the only way to get a pocket engineer was to kidnap a gnome," he said. The cloud continued to pour out, coalescing into some sort of coherent form, and once it finished Hav'naki's voice emerged from its midst.

"I see you've managed to infiltrate with no trouble." The unbound ethereal moved to hover over the three dead technicians. "Casualties. I hope they didn't raise the alarm?"

"What do you take me for, a fool?" Hiezal paused. "On second thought don't answer that." He drew a mageweave bandage from his pocket and threw it at the ethereal's feet. "Get dressed. We have work to do."

"I believe you mean _I_ have work to do," the cryo-engineer responded, managing to convey amusement without changing the inflection of its voice or show any facial expression or bodily gesture. It smoothly manipulated the bandage to contain its unbound energy, a process Hiezal might have found nauseating if he wasn't so focused on the fact that he was in the bowels of an enemy structure surrounded by controls he couldn't use and dependant on a floating cloud of energized gas.

"I'd like to lock the doors, if I can," he said.

Hav'naki finished wrapping itself and drifted over to one of the controls, running surprisingly delicate bandaged fingers over a few crystals. "Hmm. The naaru are usually so trusting, I'd expected to be able to control everything remotely. But it appears the designers were aware of the danger of door controls being manipulated from the control room. As far as I can see there's no way to lock them. You'll have to disable them manually."

Hiezal glanced at the doors uneasily, not liking the sound of that at all. Three entrances, and no way to lock them? "How exactly do I do that?"

The cryo-engineer's head turned so the "front" of it could regard Hiezal. He couldn't help but feel the ethereal was conveying disdain. "I believe that crude bludgeon in your hand should be adequate for the task." He gestured towards one of the doors. "The bank of orange and purple crystals to the left, at about chest level. I don't suppose I need to instruct you on how a corporeal goes about smashing things?"

"Suck me," Hiezal responded, glaring resentfully at his finely crafted and wickedly sharpened short sword. Crude bludgeon indeed! Muttering to himself he stalked over to one of the doors and slammed the hilt of his sword against the crystals. They barely cracked.

"Oh really, I thought I could at least depend on your savagery, corporeal." Hiezal turned to see Hav'naki standing equidistant between two workstations, one hand set to each and fingers flying with unearthly speed.

Rather than answer Hiezal snarled and brought his sword back, slamming the hilt into the crystals with all his strength. One of them cracked, and the rest went slightly darker. He hit it again, and again, shards and fragments of crystal flying in all directions, until finally the entire cluster shattered and went dark. Without the light shining through them he could see that all of them were clear like glass, not purple and orange as they'd appeared.

He ran to the second door and repeated the process, battering at the crystals. They were flickering weakly when he heard a noise behind the door, then a shout. It began to rise, slowly and jerkily, and he desperately finished smashing the cluster into darkness. Without pausing to see whether he'd been successful he turned and sprinted towards the last door.

Ten feet away he saw it begin to open. "You'd better hurry the hell up, ethereal!" he yelled over his shoulder as he smashed shoulder-first into the wall beside the crystal cluster and slammed it with his sword. He broke off a long chunk, and by a stroke of pure luck the door halted halfway up.

He heard cursing behind the door, and then a draenei ducked through it. The creature went down with his sword in its throat, and he heard cries of dismay from beyond the door. The body jerked, then began sliding backwards as his friends on the other side pulled him away. Hiezal took the opportunity to smash at the crystals a few more times. He heard a groaning like someone trying to cut through stone with a rusty hacksaw, setting his teeth on edge and making him want to cover his ears. Then the door began to slowly shut.

With another shout a second draenei slid under the door. He carried one of those odd purple-headed maces, and he desperately propped it up under the lowering door, wedging it open. Hiezal cursed and slammed his sword down into the creature's chest, but the odd purple armor it wore turned the blow, sending his point skittering away. Another hammer was propped up beneath the door to hold it open, and then the dimming crystals on his side pulsed weakly and the door began to open again. Hiezal desperately kicked at the maces blocking it open, even as he slammed the hilt of his sword into the flickering crystals.

A hand like a vise caught around his ankle, yanking, and it took all his agility to dance forward rather than be yanked off his feet. He flipped the sword in his grip so it poined blade-downward and clutching it in both hands slammed it down into the exposed area at the joint of chest and arm. The hand gripping his ankle went suddenly limp, and bluish-red blood spurted around his blade. The draenei bellowed in pain.

Hiezal danced backward and slammed the hilt of his sword into the crystals, and it finally shattered and went dark. The door groaned and began dropping, the injured draenei now the only thing that kept it from closing entirely. The creature bellowed again, and he heard a babble of distressed voices from the other side of the door. Then the draenei's companions managed to drag their friend back. Hiezal stabbed his sword through the swiftly closing gap to prevent any others from getting the same idea, and then the door slammed shut on his sword. He yanked it free, letting it close completely, then smashed the pommel against the darkened crystal cluster a final time for good measure. A few more dull fragments broke away, scattering in all directions. He slumped against the closed door, ignoring the blood beneath him as he turned towards Hav'naki. "Hurry it up. I'm sure they know how to get through-"

The words died in his throat. The ethereal was calmly unwinding the bandage around its head, and even as Hiezal watched the bandage slipped away from its shoulders. With a sort of fluid shrug the bindings slipped free entirely, fluttering to the ground, and the ethereal floated unbound once more. "What the hell are you doing?"

Hav'naki's voice came unperturbed from the cloud of energy as it drifted towards a vent in the ceiling. "The Exodar's drive control mechanisms have been sabotaged, and the dimensional drive is set to activate in five minutes. I hope that will be enough time for you to flee, since I have disabled the controls which would stop this from happening. In the meantime my work is done, and I have little desire to be bound in endless torment in a magnetic containment cell while the Exodar bounces randomly through the nether as a castaway with no hope of return. As I am sure would happen should the draenei discover me. Insert appropriate customary blood elf farewell here." The unbound ethereal slipped into the vent, compressing to accommodate the tiny space.

"Hey, wait a second!" Hiezal shouted, running beneath the vent and staring up at the disappearing cryo-engineer. "I just got finished jamming every door out of this damn place!"

Hav'naki's voice echoed hollowly in the tiny vent. "I am terribly sorry. I thought it was standard procedure for any intelligent being to have an exit strategy prepared to execute upon completion of the mission." In another moment the ethereal was gone, leaving him with five minutes to get out of a locked room full of victims he'd killed, while draenei pounded on every door to get in.

"Shit."

. . . . .

Nex watched with satisfaction as the Exodar drifted farther and farther away. Near the broken bridge which had connected it to Tempest Keep a knot of soldiers stood helplessly staring back at them. In their midst was that massively powerful draenei which had so concerned him.

Wonderful.

_Let's be off_, he told Brightpoint. The drake shrieked in delight and wheeled in a fancy corkscrew maneuver. Behind him he heard one of his passengers retching. They made for the main structure of Tempest Keep. Like the Exodar not five minutes ago, this structure was now the focus of a dozen darting drakes, elves dropping to pick off desperate defenders along balconies and exterior platforms, or loosing arrows from the backs of drakes. Near the main entrance half of the drakes were landing on a huge open platform in front of the large main doors, elves scattering in all directions to engage the handful of draenei defenders that remained.

Nex ignored that battle, guiding Brightpoint to a spot just above the main entrance where a bank of windows, or at least shiny reflective metal in the shape of windows, looked out ove the large front platform. Beside him another drake winged into position, Theril riding atop it with two Spell Breakers behind, their full armor weighing enough to prevent any more riders. Nex nodded at the windows, and the Elder nodded back and raised his hands, fire springing into his eyes. The mage prepared a spell similar to the one that had shattered Exodar's roof, but not so strong, and a moment later a blast of fire gushed from his hands in an arc and struck the metal, melting and then shattering it inward. _Take these three down to the main platform and join the fight, then find a safe perch and wait for me_, he instructed Brightpoint. Then he prepared a shield around himself and dived into opening, landing in the midst of the molten and jagged metal.

He rolled, his shield turning aside fragments of metal that would have cut his skin to ribbons, and came to his feet. He was in some sort of dining chamber filled with tables with an open wall connecting to a circular hallway. Near the hallway a draenei woman gaped at him in horror. Nex strode toward the hallway, prepared to pass her by, but at the last moment she drew a dagger and lunged at him, screaming in wordless rage.

Her dagger skittered across his shield, and Nex calmly reached out and caught her wrist, squeezing hard enough to break her slender bones and send the dagger falling to the ground. She screamed and clutched her injured arm to her chest, staring at him with wide, terrified eyes. "I'm doing you a favor," he told her calmly, not caring that she couldn't understand. "If you can't wield a weapon you'll be taken prisoner instead of killed." After a thoughtful pause he broke her other arm for good measure. "Also don't attack people who are willing to ignore you."

Leaving her screaming behind him he turned and walked along the hallway down the lefthand curve, searching for any walkways or halls that would take him deeper into the structure. He could feel the naaru's power somewhere toward the center of the structure. He just had to find it.

. . . . .

After nearly a minute of frantic searching he found a vent near the humming mass of crystals along one wall. The pounding at the doors was getting louder, and one of the doors was glowing a disconcerting red as if the draenei were trying to melt it. The one he'd sealed last was showing some unnerving dents and bulges from the men outside trying to batter it down.

If those purple hammers of theirs could do that to metal he didn't want to know what it would do to his head. He tried to pry the vent cover off but found that it was held in with dozens of tiny screws. So he jammed the point of his sword down between two screws, wincing at the thought of what he was about to do to his lovely blade, and then leaned back on it, working to pry the cover free. One screw snapped, the other bent in a way that suggested it wasn't going to break from this angle. So he jammed the sword between two more screws and repeated the process.

It took him most of another minute before he pried the vent away enough to scramble inside and into a duct that was just large enough to scuttle along. He pulled the cover back over the vent just as the red-glowing door flashed to blazing white, then exploded inward. In the doorway was the venerable figure he had seen leading the hundred soldiers who'd rushed to protect the Exodar. Whoever he was, he was certainly the leader, perhaps not only of this group but of all of Tempest Keep. The creature's piercing eyes searched everywhere as it stalked into the room, narrowing when they fell upon the dead technicians. Then it turned to stare directly at Hiezal.

Hiezal tried to curse, but it came out as more of a terrified squeal as he frantically backpedaled in the narrow duct, wriggling like an eel to turn around so he could flee head-first. Not far along the duct it rose at an angle, thankfully, and he scrabbled up the slippery slope as fast as he could, expecting at any moment for more of that blinding light to burn his ass off.

Thankfully no attacks came, although he heard a cacophony as pursuers entered the duct behind him. He kept scrambling up the slippery slope until he reached another level. Here the duct branched away every half-dozen feet, carrying the wind that blew along it all through this level. Hiezal kept scrambling as fast as he could along it, feeling the ticking of the clock in his head. He'd already used more than half his time. He ignored the branching ducts, and the ones that fell away into chutes, until his forward progress was blocked by a vertical shaft with hot wind howling up it so powerfully that he almost thought it would lift him.

His sword's point was woefully twisted, and nicked in a few places. He whispered an apology as he sheathed it and drew two daggers. The metal of the duct was thin enough that the daggers could punch through, but luckily strong enough that it would hold his weight. His feet were almost useless on the slippery metal surface, but he was in superb shape and climbing with just his arms was fairly easy.

After what seemed an eternity but was probably no more than a minute he reached another upward-sloping shaft. He had to dagger-climb up it several feet before he could get any sort of traction, but then he tossed his daggers aside and scrambled up it, cursing every time he slid back a few feet.

He burst out of an opening that led to, of all places, a tunnel very like the one by which he'd entered the Exodar, and he resisted the urge to laugh as he tried to guess which direction would take him out. He picked left and sprinted along it.

Twenty seconds later he was standing on a small railed balcony with the Twisting Nether writhing before him. He did laugh now, and ran to the very edge, leaning over the railing. "Hey!" he shouted. "Hey! Over here!" Redcrest had promised him a drake would be standing by to pick him up as soon as he completed his task. And better yet, this little platform might just be big enough to let the drake get a somewhat stable position so his mounting wouldn't be as terrifying as his dismounting had been.

There was no response to his cries. The Nether swirled past. Hiezal felt his smile fading. He raised his voice louder. "Hey! Over here!" Still nothing. He saw drakes circling in the distance, over the fast receding bulk of Tempest Keep. But none were anywhere near him.

And then it all crashed down on him, and he realized what a fool he was. Why would Redcrest want to save him, the only witness to how the Spell Breaker had disobeyed Lokiv's direct orders? Why would he divert one of his precious drakes to retrieve one infiltrator whose mission had been nearly hopeless in the first place?

There would be no drake coming. Hiezal had foolishly believed he was worth saving, but he wasn't. Because of what he knew he was a liability, not an asset, and a liability tied to Saire, also considered a liability. Perhaps even his own loyalty to his people was in question.

This was a suicide mission. Redcrest had everything he wanted, and in less than a minute he'd also have the Exodar gone and one less witness to worry about.

Behind him he heard a clatter of hooves on stone, and he turned to see a party of draenei warriors closing on him. The nearest raised his voice in a bellowing warcry, and a forest of weapons sprang up as the draenei approached.

There was nothing else to do. Hiezal fell to his knees, throwing his sword at the feet of the approaching warriors and putting his hands behind his head. He offered the draenei surrounding him his most sheepish smile.

Sheep were like goats, right?

"My friends the goatmen," he began in his most harmless, friendly voice, "I don't suppose you fine gentlemen are acquainted with the Gilneas convention regarding the humane treatment of prisoners?" The expressions of grief and rage on the draenei faces didn't flicker, and Hiezal shrugged awkwardly. "Guess not."

A few seconds later the entire Exodar lurched, and Hiezal felt as if he were being turned inside out.


	21. Assaulting the Arcatraz

Chapter Twenty

Assaulting the Arcatraz

Minor Imperial Officer: Inform Lord Vader we have a prisoner.

Random Stormtrooper: Okay sure, that's a great idea.

Officer: I beg your pardon?

Stormtrooper: Well I mean you could tell me to inform Lord Vader that we have an _important_ prisoner, or maybe be even more specific and tell him we captured Princess Leia.

But instead you want me to walk up to the guy who chokes people with his mind from across the room and say "hey, we have a prisoner." At which point he'll probably be like "no shit Sherlock we just captured an enemy ship."

**Officer rubs his chin**: You make a compelling argument. It's a good thing I radioed Lord Vader of Princess Leia's capture the moment you stunned her.

Stormtrooper:...then why did you tell me to go up and inform him personally?

Officer: Oh I just wanted to watch on my helmet camera while he choked you like a little bitch.

Stormtrooper:...I fucking hate you.

**APRIL FOOLS!**

Chapter Twenty

Assaulting the Arcatraz

The fel orc drake rider dropped them off on the ledge where the bridge had connected the front of the Arcatraz to Tempest Keep. It settled the drake down there to await their return, and in spite of herself Saire felt a pang of regret as she turned away from the massive fel orc. She certainly had no desire to fight alongside the vicious brute, but it was hard to deny that the thing could be useful.

Still orders were orders; the drake riders were to have their mounts ready at all times. So she turned and walked across the ledge. Following behind her was a Spell Breaker named Lanthan'ar, a Corona's Blaze recruit wielding a glaive by the name Hadnar, and her two apprentices Beila and Galan.

The little ledge where the bridge had stood was blocked off by a wall with only one large archway leading into a small courtyard. On the other side of the courtyard the Arcatraz loomed, its only visible entrance a triangular doorway set in the middle of a little alcove jutting out from the structure. Unfortunately that doorway was filled with a triangular door of some shiny greyish metal.

Beila, first through the archway, was also the first to see the door. "Damnit, now what are we going to do?" her apprentice said, staring at the door in dismay.

Saire put a hand on her hip as she brushed by the dark-haired woman, doing little to hide her scorn. "You're right, we're screwed. Look at us, a skilled hand-picked assault team set to capture a major enemy installation. Just our luck they happened to have a _closed door_, our one weakness. We better just go home."

Her apprentice glared at her. "I'm no stranger to sarcasm."

"You're apparently a stranger to door-opening spells." She started forward across the small courtyard.

Before she'd gone more than a few steps Lanthan'ar caught her elbow. "Shouldn't we watch for defenses?"

For a moment she paused, considering, then she shook her head and continued on. "If there's a defense it'll be at the entrance."

"Defenses aren't going to bother us a whole lot if we can't get through the door," her apprentice Galan muttered.

She shot a glare his way. "You think I can't get through a damn door?" The younger elf raised his hands placatingly and backed away. Saire sniffed and continued until she stood before the door. In truth she'd been hoping for a more conventional lock or some sort of bar mechanism; she had spells which could defeat such things. This door was simply baffling.

She slid her hand along the smooth metal, searching for seams or any hint of how it opened. She could feel arcane energy running through it, an unfamiliar form that almost mimicked the feel of an elementalist's lightning. It wasn't reinforcing the door, and was mostly centered in three nodes along each of the three sides of the triangular doorway. Three parts to the door, then, that slid away from the center? She found the point equidistant from all three energy nodes and rested her fingertips lightly to the smooth metal, brow furrowed in concentration.

Yes, she could feel three seams meeting there, so perfectly fit that they were almost impossible to discern. She murmured a detect magic spell directed at one of the nodes and saw that the arcane energy served to hold that third of the door in place, pressing against the others. Then a puzzled frown joined her furrowed brow as she noticed something unexpected.

"Interesting," she murmured.

"What?" Lanthan'ar demanded. The Spell Breaker was fidgeting nervously, eyes roving the small courtyard that enclosed the main entrance.

Saire ignored the question, probing deeper. Yes, there was no mistake. This door was designed to ward very powerful magical attacks meant to defeat the three nodes which held the door shut. The odd thing was that the wards shielded it from attacks coming from _inside_. From outside it was formidable, but from inside it was close to unassailable.

Her confusion cleared. Of course. This was the Arcatraz, where Lokiv had claimed the draenei and their naaru masters kept imprisoned dangerous and powerful beings from various worlds and the Twisting Nether itself. Its defenses would be designed to keep inmates from escaping, not to keep attackers from entering. An unfortunate design flaw, but understandable since only fools would attack a place containing creatures the naaru considered dangerous.

It turned out she was feeling particularly foolish today.

She began murmuring, wielding arcane magics she was far less familiar with than her usual fire spells. An explosion of arcane energy pulsed from her, throwing her companions back a few steps. When that energy struck the door it shivered through it, reached the nodes, and overloaded them. With a soft hiss that almost sounded like a sigh the three parts of the door relaxed from being pressed together, the bottom two sagging down and away from each other slightly until there were about two inches separating them.

Saire stepped back. "Pry them apart," she ordered.

The Spell Breaker and the Corona's Blaze glaive-wielder rushed forward, each tugging at a section of the door. And while they grunted and strained with effort the huge metal plates moved with surprising ease. Hadnar had his section roughly halfway down to the floor when he poked his head into the opening and glanced inside. Almost immediately afterwards he was staggering backward and diving to the side, cursing up a storm. Lanthan'ar more calmly looked between the cracks in the door to see what had so dismayed his companion, and then he two was backing away to the side, out of view of whatever was inside.

Saire motioned for her apprentices to do the same while she threw up a mana shield around herself. She couldn't see anything but an odd reddish light issuing through the cracks, but both her companions had seen some danger. Her two apprentices ducked to either side of the door, hugging the wall beside Hadnar and Lanthan'ar, while she calmly walked forward and peered inside.

Only a few feet beyond the door there was an odd energy field, reddish in color and semi-opaque. Directly beyond it a dozen draenei with their odd crystal-bored guns crouched, glaring back at her warily. Their weapons were held at the ready, but they didn't fire even though some of them must have had a clear shot. Perhaps their view of her was obscured by the red forcefield? Possible, but unlikely. She chanted the swift and fairly mana-intensive incantations that would put up arcane and fire wards around her, reinforcing her mana shield, and then she ducked through the partially opened door, into the narrow space between it and the energy field.

Another detect magic spell wasted more of her mana to inspect the field, revealing nothing of its nature. But even without the divination spell she could clearly see the field was intensely powerful. Dauntingly so. Perhaps the draenei weren't firing at her because the field was defense enough, a ward she couldn't hope to defeat.

Then another thought occurred to her, and she nearly laughed aloud. She drew her dagger from its sheath at her hip and tossed it at the field. It passed through the red light easily with a soft hiss, clanging to the stone floor on the other side. One of the draenei gave an exclamation of surprise and convulsively fired his gun, sending a powerful blast of energy surging toward her. The energy struck the red field and its muted red glow opaqued to blinding red light, completely halting the blast.

This time she did laugh out loud, long and mockingly. One of the draenei near the back of the group barked an angry order, and the one who'd fired his gun ducked his head sheepishly. So it was not only the door designed to keep inmates of the Arcatraz in. Likely this forcefield could be shut down from elsewhere in the facility, probably in the control room itself. How amusing that her enemies, the defenders of this place, were trapped on the other side of a shield she could easily pass through while they could do nothing from their side.

It provided an interesting opportunity, however. If the field could be altered to repel people entering rather than leaving it would make an incredible defense; from what she could tell it was powerful enough to halt a demon lord, at least for a time.

"You can open these doors," she called over her shoulder. "Although if you can get through them it probably doesn't matter how wide the opening is." While she spoke she continued to eye the draenei on the other side, smiling widely. Certainly, it was somewhat troublesome to see so many defenders still remaining within the Arcatraz. But at the least they'd been kind enough to bunch up motionless less than ten feet from her, with a powerful field preventing them from attacking her while she sized up the situation.

The longer she thought of it, the better she liked it. She heard a metallic grating behind her and turned to see Lanthan'ar once again opening his wedge of the door. "Don't follow me through the field until I give the order," she said. "But when I do all of you be ready to move fast and strike hard."

The Spell Breaker glanced past her at the draenei. "You think you can take them alone?"

Her smile widened. "Of course. Any idiot knows not to bunch up in an enclosed space within pissing distance of a fire mage." She refreshed her fire and arcane wards, checked to be sure her mana shield remained active, then prepared herself mentally and faced the draenei. "I'd like to talk," called to them in her most harmless tone, raising her arms above her head to indicate surrender. The draenei who'd shouted the orders glared at her for a moment, then gestured curtly with his gun for her to approach.

Saire smiled a winning smile and stepped through the field. She wasn't even angry when the draenei leader screamed an order and a dozen blasts of energy rushed at her. Her own reply was just as fast.

The nice thing about blast waves was that they had almost zero cast time. They were a great tool for surprising an enemy, and suited her style of magecraft far better than arcane explosions.

She unleashed a healthy chunk of her mana pool, converting it to flame as it flooded from her in all directions. Within seconds the narrow hallway choked with draenei became an inferno with her in the center. Distantly she could feel the strain on her wards and mana shield as the discharges from the draenei guns struck them, and another healthy chunk of her mana burned away to keep her alive. Far more immediate were the screams of shock and agony from the men who suddenly found themselves in the midst of a firestorm.

She felt one of the draenei, perhaps the leader, preparing a shield to protect his men from the flames, and she focused her concentration and shouted out a counterspell. The force of it knocked her back a step, and among the flames she could see a draenei go flying backwards. Then the blast wave had passed the draenei by, leaving them burned and their defensive formation broken. About half turned to flee while the others writhed on the ground, screaming in pain. Saire prepared a more conventional fireball and flung it after the fleeing ones, scattering the wounded draenei like ninepins at a game of bowls.

Then she sagged to the ground. "Lanthan'ar they're retreating!" she shouted. "Go after them!" Behind her she heard the Spell Breaker bark an order, and then he and the recruit rushed by her, her two apprentices close behind. As a group they sprinted down the hall and into the chamber beyond. She distantly heard more screams even as she dragged herself over to a wall and leaned against it, feeling dizzy and drained.

Most mages hated blast waves, and with good reason. Similar to arcane explosions but even more costly in mana, they were just about the crudest spell a mage could cast. The spell was simply an unfocused unleashing of mana, sending energy of equal strength in every direction. It was grossly inefficient unless a mage happened to be beneath a dog-pile of enemy soldiers, an event rather unlikely to come up in most fights. Even in that case the wave would simply strike the bunched enemies briefly before continuing on past, doing little more than superficial damage unless the mage unleashed a huge amount of energy.

For duels it was a laughable waste, and even against multiple enemies flamestrike was a more useful spell, less costly and easier to target. Since it was point-blank your enemy had to be right next to you, and given its wave-like nature it was strongest near the mage's skin, weakening rapidly as it spread out in a sphere until by the time it was fifteen feet away it would barely scorch the skin. Even the fact that it could be cast almost instantly wasn't much of a bonus.

She was just lucky circumstances had been ideal for the spell, and the enclosed space and the forcefield behind her had channeled the entire force of the blast wave in the direction she wanted it to go. Almost like the fiery equivalent of a cone of cold, a thing which she didn't have near the precision or control to manage in an open space.

Perhaps nine dead in that attack, and three-quarters of her mana pool drained. Luckily like a good little mage she'd come prepared.

With a weary sigh she stood, using the wall as support as she dug into her pouch and withdrew a diamond the size of her fist. Not real, of course, or she'd be the luckiest girl in two worlds. It was a mana gem, a conjured matrix of enclosed energy mages could create to temporarily store their mana. Usable only by the mage who'd created it, and it rarely lasted more than a day. She'd created it last night and then ate and slept to replenish her mana pool. It was the highest ranking mana gem she could create, and as she held it up to her face and released the containing matrix, inhaling the mana, it refilled her mana pool by roughly a third. Leaving her with around sixty percent of her pool. Barring any other grossly wasteful spells in the future it should be enough for the task ahead.

And who knew, she might get lucky and find herself with a half hour of free time she could spend in evocation. The equivalent of opening the floodgates of mana regeneration was intensely taxing to mind and body both, but having mana when she needed it had saved her life and others' several times during her village refugees' flight from their homeland.

She broke into a trot past the burned and blackened bodies of her victims, some still writhing and whimpering weakly. The room beyond was large and grand and decidedly empty save for another blackened corpse with a vicious wound along its back, as if it had been crawling away and one of her companions had cut it down as it tried to flee. The room ended in another hallway, this one wider, and she crossed to it and ducked inside.

This hallway was much longer as well, and boasted doors to the left and right every ten feet or so. At the end of the hall it ended in a broad wall with a tiny door in the middle of it, barely six feet tall and three wide. Her four companions were crouched along the wall to either side of the door, cursing and peering around it suspiciously. Saire ran down the hall toward them, passing another burned draenei, this one decapitated and with its head six feet farther down the hall. She passed it with a grimace of distaste. "What's going on?" she called when she was halfway to them.

Lanthan'ar spat off to the side and peered cautiously around the doorway. A blast of energy nearly struck his head, hissing past only inches away and continuing on to blacken the wall fifteen feet down the hallway. He cursed and ducked back. "They've got another defensive position in there."

Saire cursed as well. Another? Just how many defenders did Arcatraz have? She'd seen a few dozen rush from this satellite to assist the Exodar. "Have you searched these doors?" she asked, pointing at the dozen doorways lining the hall. His incredulous look was answer enough. "Manastarved fool. You just rush on by and leave possible enemies behind as well as in front?"

He spat again. "Would you rather we dawdled along and let them set up a defensive position where we're crouched here, shooting those damn guns of theirs along this hallway? That would've been a wonderful little death-trap to try to fight down."

Saire hesitated a moment, then shrugged irritably. "Gods damnit. Galan, Beila, you two guard that door." Her apprentices nodded grimly. "Lanthan'ar, Hadnar, you start searching the doorways along the hall starting from your end. I'll backtrack to the beginning of the hall and start searching from that end."

Without waiting for a response she ran back down to the first pair of doors along the hallway and burst into the righthand one. It opened easily to her touch, sliding up into the ceiling. Behind was a fairly large room which, true to the Arcatraz's nature, was filled with eight-by-eight foot prison cells. Rather than bars or enclosed dungeons these cells were blocked off by forcefields, shimmering blue rather than the red one at the entrance. Of the dozen or so cells most were empty, with only a few near the doors filled with bored, defeated-looking Broken draenei. In the center of the room stood a round control panel with a number of large crystals corresponding to the number of cells, and a few smaller crystals in clusters around the large ones.

No guards or other enemies. She ducked out of the room and crossed the hall to the other. It was much the same as the first, with more Broken prisoners and a few cells filled with what looked like amorphous blobs of flesh with squid-like tentacles and mouthfuls of circular rows of wicked sharp teeth. They looked like they'd been mutated with fel energy somehow, experiments or casualties of attacks by demonic magic. By the way they threw themselves snarling at the forcefields, teeth scraping across the semi-opaque blue wall in a shower of sparks, she was glad they were contained.

The next pair of doors also led into cell blocks, a few orcs and normal draenei in one room and the other filled with more of the mutated freaks. Though they were all safely contained Saire felt a bit nervous at the savagery of these imprisoned creatures, and decided it was wise to have spells prepared when she entered the next room. Probably should have been doing that from the beginning.

She burst into the next room, this time with defensive and offensive spells at the ready should she meet any resistance.

Instead a dozen pairs of big eyes stared up at her, wide with surprise and the beginnings of fear.

. . . . .

Children. Close to a dozen Draenei children. As tiny and delicate as any elven child, with the same animated features and large, curious eyes. They were clumped in a disorderly gaggle behind a tall, striking draenei female with white skin and long, curving horns.

The room was another containment chamber with cells along every wall, all blocked by those same bluish forcefields that mingled engineering and arcane energy. The female had been leading the children along past the cells but was now halted a third of the way along one wall.

It was obviously some sort of school tour group or the like. Though the draenei were strange in appearance Saire could have seen such a group in Silvermoon City, touring the Court of the Sun, the children bored of their teacher's words and looking for other ways to amuse themselves. In fact here one of the draenei children was even separated from the group, off on the other side of the room hiding behind a panel with a mischievous pose. Before Saire's interruption the draenei woman might have been calling for the child to rejoin the group, a tinge of exasperation in her voice.

Now, however, all were still, staring at her in shock and fear. The draenei female looked as if death itself had come through the door. Then she barked a sharp order to the children, ushering them into a tight knot in the far corner of the room. The little girl who'd been playing hide-away broke cover and dashed towards the others, wailing in terror with tears streaming down her cheeks.

The draenei female caught the child and shoved her behind her back, then faced Saire with a pleading expression, hands bunched in fists over her chest. "Ni'tandranot sethi," she cried, falling to her knees and stretching her arms out as if to ward off any attack on the little ones behind her. She wore a dress with an odd, stiff bodice and a loose skirt of some cloth that flowed like water. When she knelt the cloth puddled around her, and half a dozen of the children scooted forward to hide their heads beneath it. "Sethi l'enfant edithi. Sethi ni'tandranot!"

Tandranot. That was the word Nex had told them meant "surrender" or something like it. Saire let the prepared spells fade from the forefront of her attention, their power dissipating somewhat, and held out her hands reassuringly. "Yes, tandranot," she said as gently as she could. She started to back out of the room; if the female was intelligent as soon as Saire was gone she would find a way to lock the door from the inside, keeping her and these children out of the fighting. Saire would relay orders to her people to do anything they could to protect these little ones.

Her backward progress was halted when she ran into something solid, and she turned to find the doorway blocked by the blood-red armor of a Spell Breaker. Lanthan'ar. "Well well," he breathed, eyes gleaming as he stared at the terrified group of draenei. "We just took the Arcatraz."

Saire stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean? You found the control room?"

His handsome face flickered with annoyance, and he glanced down at her. "Don't be silly. We're still trying to break through the second defensive post." He waved a long, delicate gauntleted hand at the draenei children. "But it looks as if we've found what we need to end the fighting."

For a moment longer she stared at him uncomprehendingly. Hhen her confusion turned to horror. "No."

"Yes." The annoyance was back. "Think of this reasonably. These goatmen will surrender immediately if we use these children as hostages and living shields. We'll be able to march right to the control room unopposed. Lokiv would dance for joy at the thought of us taking the Arcatraz with no more casualties to either side."

For a moment she wondered if the human really would have condoned such an action. It made sense in a cold, logical sort of way. But it didn't matter what Lokiv would have done, because she wouldn't. "No," she said again, more firmly. "We won't stoop to that. That's an order."

The Spell Breaker pushed her aside roughly. "You may be in charge here by the human's orders, but we all know you're nothing more than spellcaster support. I'll do this because it's the best method for taking a place far better defended than we had assumed it would be. Five of us isn't going to manage it otherwise."

Saire caught his arm as he started forward. "And what if the draenei decide they can't trust us and the children are an acceptable loss? Are you going to murder a dozen innocents?"

He shrugged out of her grip. "Don't be soft, woman. It's a gamble, nothing more. If the goats don't take the bait then we'll dump their kids in a room and try something else." But Saire could hear the lie in his words. Negotiation relied on making good on threats; if the draenei defenders didn't surrender Lanthan'ar would kill one of the children and repeat the threat. Then two. He would force them to either betray their positions as defenders of the Arcatraz or watch while he slaughtered a dozen children.

Then, knowing the enemy they faced and with nothing to lose, the draenei would fight to the death. Further negotiations would become impossible.

Lanthan'ar's spell defenses were fully in place, rendering him highly resistant or even immune to her spells. Lokiv could probably have overpowered them as he'd done to Velansar, but that option was not available to her. So instead she drew the dagger at her waist and darted forward, wrapping one hand around Lanthan'ar's chest and pressing the dagger to his throat. "No," she hissed in his ear. "We're not going to do this."

The Spell Breaker froze, breath hissing out of him. She could see the draenei female who'd been cringing backwards in renewed terror was gaping at her in surprise. "Are you mad?" Lanthan'ar demanded. "What will you do, kill me and guarantee this assault fails? Let me go now and I'll pretend you aren't a weak lovesick sop with her moon's blood flowing and let you live."

Saire pressed deeper with the dagger until a bright bead of blood broke free of the blade and slid down his neck to nestle in the hollow of his throat. "If you die the assault fails. But if I die the assault also fails, and you know it. Do you think my apprentices can provide the arcane support you need to storm defensive positions?"

"Then it appears we are at an impasse."

Saire hissed laughter into his ear, and he flinched slightly. "That's where you're wrong. I'm willing to destroy this mission rather than achieve it by the methods you suggest. I'm even willing to die to protect these innocents. But you're a bit more interested in seeing us succeed. The only option you have if you want to take the Arcatraz is to walk out of this room with me. The _only_ option."

For a moment more he remained tense beneath her, then he nodded slightly. "It's been said the only thing more pointless than cursing at the sun is trying to convince a woman motivated by her feelings. Very well, mage, we'll do it your way. Take out the second defensive perimeter and prove to me we don't need hostages to take this facility."

Saire nodded and dropped her hand. "All right, I wi-"

Her words ended in a strangled squeak as he suddenly spun, sweeping the dagger from her hand and pressing the tip of his warglaive just beneath her left breast. He leaned in close to her ear, mimicking her own earlier action. "And you better hope you play your part perfectly, mage. If we fail because of you do not expect to leave Arcatraz alive. I'll thank you for drawing my blood and putting a damn bread knife to my throat."

Saire took a deep breath, flinching slightly from the tip of the warglaive as even that slight motion stung her, then nodded. "We'll take the Arcatraz," she answered calmly. "But no more threats or power plays. We can't afford to be trying to kill each other when there's plenty of draenei out there willing to do it for us."

He nodded curtly, motioning to the door. She didn't have much choice but to lead the way, uncomfortably aware of his weapon at her back.

Hadnar met them outside, not seeming to notice the tension between them. "All clear in our rooms. Yours?"

"A group of children in this room. We're leaving them behind." The recruit nodded, and she led him and Lanthan'ar back down the hall to where Beila and Galan were waiting to either side of the door. More black scorch marks adorned the walls, but her two apprentices were unharmed. "What do we have?" she asked.

Galan shrugged. "I took my sash and waved it across the opening. Judging by the number of blasts that followed I'd say there's at least ten enemies in there."

"Good thinking," Saire said, nodding in approval.

Her apprentice looked sheepish. "Mostly I was just bored, and also I kind of didn't want them to try sneaking up on us so I thought it would distract them."

Saire bit back an angry retort and turned to Lanthan'ar. "You peeked around the door at least once. Any idea what that room looks like?"

He hesitated. "Around twenty feet across, I'd say. I saw two hallways opening up on the far side of the room. Not sure about the sides or along the near wall."

"Hiding places?"

"A control panel in the left corner. Mostly they were just peeking around corners or shielding themselves with the wall on the other side of the door, same as we're doing."

She nodded. "All right. How do you feel about dodging energy blasts?"

He looked at her as if she were insane. "Not good."

"Blocking them, then? With your armor and spell resistance you should survive a few hits."

He lifted his arm enough to reveal a blackened scorch on his bracer where the metal was bubbled and warped. "That's just a graze."

Saire swore. "Well, on the plus side with so many ways to go beyond this defensive post we should be able to pick one and rush along it. There'll be less defenders after that, and the others might have trouble coordinating a proper defense beyond this point."

"Unless there's another hundred more in here," Galan muttered.

She shook her head. "At least one of those draenei knows our numbers. If they had endless bodies to throw at us they would have already attacked us rather than holding defensive positions." She hesitated, thinking, the nodded. "All right, here's what we'll do. Lanthan'ar, you're going to duck into the room and follow the wall to the left, making for the closest door. If you meet any enemies kill them. I'll Blink to the far side of the room at the same time and unleash a prepared flamestrike at the largest knot of defenders. Hopefully that will distract them enough for the rest of you to follow Lanthan'ar to that door. Galan, Beila, have spells prepared to unleash at anyone I didn't hit with the flamestrike. Any questions?"

"Just one," Lanthan'ar said with a bitter twist to his mouth. "Are you trying to trick me into killing myself?"

She resisted the urge to swear again. "Fine. I'll go in first. If you have any interest in taking this place you're welcome to do your own parts in the plan." She put her arcane and fire wards back in place and activated her mana shield, then began casting the flamestrike spell. She stopped just short of powering the spell matrix, using most of her presence of mind to hold the spellform intact as she stepped in front of the door. She had an instant to look at the room beyond and the dozen or so surprised draenei before she Blinked.

Pandemonium erupted as energy bursts whizzed past her, all targeted for the doorway. She had a moment to find the largest knot of defenders before the draenei even knew she was there. That was along the right wall, where a wide opening led into a steeply descending ramp. The draenei were laying flat on that ramp, using its downward curve and the floor to shield most of their bodies. There had to be at least ten there alone. She finished casting the flamestrike, calling the flames down on the hapless draenei, who all shrieked as they began to burn.

Then she twisted toward the nearest doorway, where two draenei were pointing their guns at her people on the far side of the room. The tips of the guns glowed weakly, the glow growing stronger, and she realized with a start that the power of the guns was limited by a cooldown period of several seconds. She began casting arcane missiles at them.

The advantage of arcane missiles was similar to the advantage of an arcane explosion or a blast wave. They could be loosed almost immediately, after only half a second or so to concentrate the energy in a ball and launch it. After that though she was forced to hold her attention on that ball and guide it with her mind, even as she prepared and loosed another ball and guided it as well. Making it extremely accurate but somewhat concentration-intensive.

She used her hand to guide the first ball, making it arc around to hit the first draenei in the chest. The energy surged through him, sending him stumbling backward screaming. She guided the second missile towards his companion, who was turning his attention toward her. Her third missile formed and flew free, and she was just about to snag it when a barrage of energy bursts from guns behind her made her wards flicker and die, her mana shield beginning to drain. She kept concentration long enough to guide her second missile into the draenei's head, then let the third fly three as she turned toward the doorway her people had been making for.

Galan and Beila were hunched just inside it, throwing fireballs at draenei across the room. There was little danger to them since the defenders were all targeting Saire. She focused on their position, turning slightly to get in line, and then Blinked through the doorway and into the hall.

Thirty percent of her mana. Not bad all things considered. She turned, preparing a fireball. "Keep going," she ordered tersely. "I'll follow." As they ran past her she flung the fireball blindly around the corner, towards the position of a draenei she'd seen out of the corner of her eye. Then she pressed her hands to either side of the door, spreading fire into the doorframe. It took far more concentration for this, but soon she had a wall of fire burning in the doorway. With any luck it would last up to twenty seconds before failing.

She turned and fled after her people.

. . . . .

By the time she caught up with them they were in another room, or at least a juncture where three hallways met. Two draenei sprawled on the ground, dead, and Hadnar's glaive was bloody. Two more draenei, unarmed and simply dressed in some sort of coveralls, where crouched in one corner, hands held protectively above them. Lanthan'ar was striding toward them with his warglaive upraised when she arrived.

"Leave them be," she ordered.

He paused. "They're enemies."

"They're civilians. Knock them unconscious if you have to, but we're not killing anyone we don't have to."

His lip curled. "Another order from your tenderhearted human lover?"

She met his eye directly. "Enemies will be on our heels. Should we resume the conversation we were having in that cell back there?"

For a moment he hesitated, then he spat and turned, slamming the first technician across the temple with a gauntleted fist. The blue creature dropped like a stone. The second technician gave a squeal and tried to bolt, but Lanthan'ar tripped him with his warglaive and stepped in, smashing his boot into the back of the creature's head.

With that taken care of Saire looked around quickly. "Damnit," she muttered. None of the halls looked as if they led downward, to where the control room would be. She pointed to the one on the left, away from any defenders who might be circling around from the previous ambush point. "Let's go." Without waiting for a response she broke into a run down that hall. As she ran she prepared a fireball, a good thing because this hall was filled with more doorways like the first, and when she passed the third door on the left it slid open silent as a shadow and a draenei lunged toward her, swinging a massive warhammer at her head. Loosed the fireball, hitting him in the chest from less than three feet away, and he flew backwards with a strangled noise.

From behind she heard the odd humming noise the draenei guns made, and spun in time to see a second draenei, this one robed and bearing a staff, slump to the ground ten feet behind her. The glow of the spell he'd been casting faded from his hands as he died.

The shot had come from Beila, who held one of the draenei guns. At her glance the dark-haired woman flushed slightly. "It's easier to use than you'd think."

Saire looked at the gun with interest. "Fire it again," she said.

Beila nodded and raised the weapon, pressing its trigger. Then she frowned when nothing happened. Saire, however, had noticed immediately that the bore of the gun wasn't glowing, and that no glow was appearing. "The guns glow as they recharge. Are there any other mechanisms other than the trigger?" Her apprentice shook her head. "Well then you'd best throw it aside. Until we figure out how the draenei make them work they're not worth more than one shot." The gun clattered to the ground, Beila looking disappointed, and Saire turned and led them at a run down the hallway.

They reached another juncture, this one unguarded. None of the three other hallways seemed to lead downward. They picked the one straight across, hoping that at the back of the Arcatraz, the most difficult place to get to, they'd find a way to the control room. At the end of that hall, however, they came to a large room with dozens of draenei in it. There was no choice but to backtrack, lucky they hadn't been noticed.

When the made it back to the juncture they were about to pick another way when draenei burst from two of the hallways, the one they'd first come down and one to the left. Saire sent one group scattering with a fireball, but before anyone could attack the second group they darted forward and caught Galan. Her apprentice shrieked as his hands were held. Saire was expecting the draenei to use him as a living shield, but to her surprise his captors simply rushed him away from the fighting while more draenei attacked them.

So, they'd taken him prisoner rather than simply killing him, and kept him safe rather than making him a hostage. Lanthan'ar seemed like an even bigger asshat now.

Asshat or no, Lanthan'ar was quick to respond. He roared and pushed forward, warglaive held horizontal in front of him. Its blades caught two draenei and pushed them back, severely wounding one, and when the Spell Breaker snapped his warglaive back he spun it expertly and drove one of the points into the second draenei. Hadnar lithely dodged another draenei's hammer, his triple-bladed glaive coming in to open the enemy's throat. Beila threw a fireball at another, and though she missed the few remaining draenei ducked back down the hallway, retreating. The other group, scattered by Saire's fireball, were returning. And down the hallway they'd just come from led the room.

She looked grimly at their only remaining option, the fourth hallway. "Let's go."

. . . . .

She'd been afraid the fourth hallway would lead them back to that massive room with all its defenders, since it was right next to that other hallway, but she was relieved to find it made a right angle a little ways along and led off in a different direction.

They encountered more groups of draenei, some merely the hints of them, lights or noises down hallways, others open attacks. After running for several minutes, seemingly chased the whole time, Lanthan'ar finally said what they were all thinking; they were being herded in circles. The draenei were only guarding the hallways leading to sensitive areas, so if they kept on avoiding the draenei they'd never reach the control room.

So at the next juncture Saire listened carefully until she found a hallway where she thought there might be defenders, then she nodded. Lanthan'ar led the way in a rush, with them following behind. Beila had scavenged another charged gun, and Hadnar's glave had even more blood on it.

Just past where the hallway formed a right angle she heard screams as the Spell Breaker ducked around the corner. They arrived in time to see two defenders dead on the ground and a third fleeing. That one went down with a shot to the back from Beila's gun, and the dark-haired woman frowned petulantly as she threw it aside.

Saire started forward, stepping over the dead enemies, but before she'd gone too far she saw a vent up near the ceiling, not five feet ahead, filled with an odd mist. As soon as she saw the mist creeping out of the vent she screamed for her party to stop, fearing they'd sprung a trap which unleashed poison gas. She gathered up her mana and focused a small but powerful flame wave at the gas, blowing it farther down the corridor. "We'll have to double back," she said, turning away.

"I must protest, Mistress Saire, that was a rather hostile greeting."

Saire froze and turned slowly around, to where the cloud of gas was reforming farther down the hall. Inspecting it more closely she could feel its energy, and it glowed with its own life. It wasn't a cloud at all but an unbound ethereal. And to her surprise she recognized the voice.

"Gava'sikh? The hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

The energy continued forming into a more coherent shape. "Ah, Mistress Saire," it said, "a pleasure to meet you again. In spite of the rather, ahem, heated reception."

"What the hell is that?" Beila demanded, staring at the unbound ethereal with wide eyes. Saire noticed that while Hadnar looked equally surprised, Lanthan'ar obviously recognized the ethereal.

"Quiet," Saire ordered tersely, turning back to the ethereal. "I asked what you were doing here, Ambassador Gava'sikh."

The ambassador regarded the three draenei bodies splayed out in the hallway. "My my, you're still flailing about blindly and allowing these draenei to lure you farther and farther from the control room? A fortunate thing Master Velansar commissioned our services in taking the three satellites. Much as I respect Master Nex I'm disappointed he never thought to engage us in this enterprise. A regrettable oversight."

Saire felt a surge of hope, and for the moment she didn't give a damn where the aid was coming from. "You can lead us directly to the control room?"

"But of course. I have some familiarity with the layout of structures of this sort. I can indeed lead you directly, as per your request, or if you prefer by a more circuitous but less well-defended route. You are the client so the choice is yours." Saire stared at it blankly, and it nodded as if that was answer enough. "I am pleased you defer to my wisdom in this matter." It began to drift down the hallway. "Come along, if you will. Be advised there is a pair of draenei gunmen waiting in a room one hundred meters down this corridor. The door to your left."

Saire followed hesitantly, motioning her people to follow behind. Thanks to the ethereal's warning when they passed the aforementioned doorway the two draenei leaping out in ambush were met by Lanthan'ar. One died with the Spell Breaker's glaive through the chest before she could even get through the door, and the other fired a useless burst of energy at Lanthan'ar's armor, almost completely resisted by the Spell Breaker's powerful magical defenses. Seeing that the draenei dropped to his knees and flung his gun away before Lanthan'ar could kill him. Lanthan'ar passed the gun to Beila to replace the one she'd lost in the last fight, knocked the draenei out to ensure he didn't follow, and then they hurried after Gava'sikh.

With the unbound ethereal leading they made much better progress. Not only that but they seemed to leave the draenei defenders far behind, and when they did encounter resistance Gava'sikh was able to warn them of it, including numbers, location, and how they were armed. A few times the ethereal drifted ahead, scouting perhaps. She also noticed portions of its essence breaking away and entering the vents, and sometimes drifting back to rejoin it.

They began finding ramps leading downward, and hallways that also sloped down. After a few more minutes with almost no enemies encountered the ethereal led them into a little vent that covered a duct. They followed it for a hundred feet or so and then Gava'sikh drifted to a stop. "I would advise that you be prepared for this next part."

"How so?"

The ethereal hesitated. "There are, ah, twenty-three enemy draenei in the room to the right as you exit this vent. Most of them are facing the other way, expecting you to come down the hallways. This is the last major defensive position before the control room."

"So we'll have to fight our way through?" Though she tried to keep her tone even Saire couldn't help but feel overwhelming dismay. Twenty-three enemies?

The ethereal sounded amused. "You misunderstand, Mistress Saire. We have gone beyond the defensive position. To the left lies the final hallway leading to the control room. Once we are past a certain point I can activate defenses which will permanently separate us from those twenty-three enemies. The control room itself has other means of egress, so you need not worry about being trapped."

Saire nodded. "So we sneak left down the hall and hope they don't notice us?"

"I'm afraid not. As soon as you leave the vent you will be very visible. I would suggest exiting as quickly as possible and fleeing."

"Would you?" Lanthan'ar replied dubiously.

"Indeed I would."

Saire hesitated. "All right," she whispered. Prepare this permanent separation. Everyone behind me stay close and be ready." She inched up the final ten feet or so of duct to the vent. Gava'sikh streamed through it and drifted away. After testing to make sure the vent would come free, she held up a hand for her people, counting down with her fingers. As soon as she finished she slammed her shoulder into the vent, tumbling out. Behind her she heard voice raised in alarm, and she scrambled to her feet and sprinted down the hallway to her left.

Gava'sikh had chosen a good spot for them to come out, since they only had to go five feet or so before the hallway made a right angle, taking them out of direct line of fire. She skidded around the corner with Lanthan'ar right behind her, and then Hadnar came around the corner. Last of all Beila came squealing, slapping at a smoldering flap of robe beneath her arm. Almost as soon as she passed the corner the lights along the hallway pulsed and she heard a deafening crystalline chime that sounded like an alarm. She looked up to see Gava'sikh's entire cloudy form compressed into a dark black ball around some sort of nub protruding from the ceiling. Then a massive slab of metal began to fall almost directly over her head. She leapt inside, her people following her as the thick door lowered slowly. She ducked down and saw a handful of draenei run around the corner just as it settled into place, blocking them off from the defenders. Permanently, the ethereal had said.

She turned to Gava'sikh. "What was that?"

The ambassador sounded smug. "Being a dimensional vessel, the Arcatraz passes through the Twisting Nether. There are many unpleasant things in the Nether, and so the ship is fitted with safeguards in case of nether breach. In the advent of contamination by nether particles the sensor I activated sets off a failsafe which lowers an impassable wall, confining the contamination to a specific area of the facility. As an amusing aside, the hallway through which we just passed will also be blocked at its end, just where it enters the room. Since you lured a good number of that room's defenders within the hallway they are now permanently trapped."

"Just how permanently?" Saire demanded, thinking of those poor draenei dying inside a tiny hallway.

"The safeguards can only be overruled by the control room or by scouring and resetting the sensor. I've left enough of my essence clogging the sensor to keep it activated indefinitely. It will be a rather difficult and lengthy process to free those draenei, and one which will have to be done after the facility is in our hands."

Saire didn't like it, but she resolved to make freeing those draenei her personal responsibility. Unable to do anything else, she turned down the hallway to their destination. The control room. About twenty feet farther on the hall ended in a big, very sturdy-looking door. She started forward, walking past Gava'sikh and expecting him to follow. When he didn't she slowed to a stop and looked at him quizzically. "Well?" she asked.

Gava'sikh turned to regard her. "I do hope you won't think this seems silly, but I feel a bit underdressed for this next bit."

She stared at him blankly. "Underdressed," she repeated.

"Indeed. It's quite embarrassing, but I should like some sort of clothing. Bandaging if you have it, although a shirt and pants would suffice. And gloves. I'm afraid I must insist on gloves."

Saire turned to find her three companions looking at her. "Why are you staring at me? I'm not stripping down."

Beila sniffed. "You certainly can't expect me to be any more willing to run around this maze in my altogether."

Hadnar looked at the apprentice thoughtfully. "You're not wearing undergarments, then?" Her only answer was a glare, so he shrugged. "Well Lanthan'ar is the most dressed anyway. Let him donate some clothes to the cause."

"You're out of your damn mind," Lanthan'ar protested. "I'm the only one besides the mage who's actually useful here, I'm certainly not giving up any of my armor. And it would take time we don't have for me to take it off to get to my clothes beneath. Hadnar, strip down and give Master Gava'sikh your clothes."

Hadnar looked toward Saire beseechingly. When he saw her expression he sighed. "God damnit." He stripped off his shirt and pants, revealing of all things a pair of undershorts with fancy little embroidered "HY"s all over them. Beila took one look and burst into a silvery peal of laughter. Hadnar glared at her in disgust. "I hate you all, you know that?"

A few moments later Gava'sikh's energy filled the cloth, along with the thin cloth gloves Beila had been wearing. The ethereal inspected himself dubiously, then nodded and turned to Saire. "Excellent. Now that I don't appear a beggar with energy to siphon let's negotiate."

Saire gaped at the ethereal. "What?"

A slender gloved finger pointed at the door ahead. "As you can see, the control room. Sadly the defenders have had fair warning of our approach and have sealed it against us. And as you can quite imagine, this being the Arcatraz the control room's defenses are sufficient to repel the attacks of a demon lord. The odds of your party managing to get inside are, unfortunately, quite slim. I could calculate those odds based on your current mana pool and other factors, but it would be a waste of time. That's how slim they are. Very, very slim."

Lanthan'ar cursed, and Beila gave a wail and sagged against the thick wall. "You're saying we're as trapped as the draenei on the other side of this wall?" Hadnar demanded.

"For the moment yes. Assuming the draenei technicians manning the control room have no desire to allow you inside, which I believe is a safe assumption."

Lanthan'ar snarled and took a step forward. "You son of a bitch. You got us trapped here!"

Gava'sikh raised the delicate disembodied gloves placatingly. "Now now, Master Lanthan'ar, let us not be hasty. I assure you the Consortium can be trusted to provide solutions for its clients, not problems."

"And you have a solution," Saire said flatly. "Which you will make us pay for."

Gava'sikh's placating floating gloves wiggled frantically. "Please, Mistress Saire, do me no discourtesy of harsh judgment. The Consortium is not in the habit of forcing trade agreements with a netherium destabilizer held to our trade partner's core. Let us instead call this fair compensation for services rendered."

"And what is this compensation?"

The ambassador gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. "Somewhere in this facility one of my kind is being held. I ask only that you release him to my custody."

"Friend of yours?" Lanthan'ar asked sarcastically.

"Tatters of K'aresh, no!" Gava'sikh replied, sounding equal parts amused and scandalized. "The ethereal in question is a former Nexus-Prince by the name of Shaffar. At one time he headed an organization known as the Qiv." The ethereal hesitated, then continued resolutely. "I've not entered into a conflict for a time. Doing so has created a certain feeling of...camaraderie towards you all. So I will give you this information without expectation of reciprocation.

"You see, the Qiv are, or I should say were, a singularly unpleasant organization. Thieves, murderers, spies and tricksters. Even by the most pragmatic ethereal's standards they are somewhat unsavory. At various times the entire Ethereum has declared war upon them, and they've been obliged to disappear for a long while until they could find a way to buy their way back into some powerful organization's good graces.

"But now again I should say the Qiv still are, for one single member of their organization remains. That being, of course, Nexus-Prince Shaffar himself. Centuries ago the naaru caught the Qivvi selling information concerning the location and disposition of a draenei colony to the Burning Legion. Needless to say the naaru were not pleased. Their retribution was a large contributing factor to the downfall of the Qiv. Shaffar himself was taken prisoner and set to serve an eternal sentence in this very facility. Where he has, I presume and hope, suffered intense boredom and mental anguish in the last few centuries of his imprisonment."

"Considering your dislike of this Shaffar you seem awfully eager to see him free," Saire observed.

Gava'sikh conveyed amusement. "Mixing personal predispositions with business is rather bad form. Regardless of my sentiments toward Shaffar he has the potential to be a great asset to the Consortium. A very profitable acquisition." The ambassador's tone became brisk. "So what say you, Mistress Saire? I will find a way to obtain you entry into an unassailable control room, and you give me leave to take away this Nexus-Prince Shaffar."

Saire shrugged. "We get our objective and one less prisoner to worry about. Win-win."

"Excellent!" Gava'sikh turned toward the door, rubbing disembodied gloves together in anticipation. "Now, how to enter a room protected by an impermeable shield, saving us all from certain death trapped within this short expanse of corridor. Perhaps this will do it." The ambassador raised a hand and snapped his fingers, making a surprisingly clear and sharp sound in spite of the fact that there was nothing under the gloves to make the snapping noise.

Saire watched, openmouthed, as the door in front of them slid open. Gava'sikh hadn't cast any spell, or used any device she could see. "How the hell did you do that?"

"Forewarned is forearmed," Gava'sikh replied cryptically. "Master Lanthan'ar, there are two technicians within who should probably be dispatched or taken prisoner." The Spell Breaker stared at the door for a moment longer, surprise written across his handsome features, and then he gave a start and rushed through the opening, warglaive leading.

Gava'sikh was stripping off the shirt, pants, and gloves, exuding a palpable air of satisfaction. Saire watched him with growing suspicion. "You had agents in place before the room was sealed," she accused. "You used this as a bargaining chip to get what you wanted."

"But of course. That is how negotiation works, dear corporeal." Gava'sikh brightened and drifted toward the door in his unbound form. "Ah good, Ya'seri, you have my wrappings. I was quite missing them. Amazing how quickly a luxury becomes a necessity." Saire followed Gava'sikh into the room and saw that there were two ethereals waiting inside wearing more tawdry rags, one of which was holding the ambassador's runecloth bandages. On one side of the room a scrap of rag flapped from a vent, perhaps the hiding place of these two ethereals until the time came for them to do their task. On the other side of the room Lanthan'ar was standing threateningly over two female draenei in utilitarian clothing who looked so shocked she recognized the expression even on their alien faces.

Freshly bound in his familiar wrappings, Gava'sikh moved over to one of the odd crystal control panels with its holographic display. "If you have no objection, I will alert the entirety of the Arcatraz that we now have possession of the control room. I expect resistance will swiftly die down after that."

"By all means," Saire replied, feeling somewhat dazed at how swiftly everything had changed. Not that she was complaining.

For long minutes afterward things were silent as Gava'sikh worked, showing incredible familiarity with alien devices and controls Saire wouldn't have known how to begin working with. After a time he turned the front of his head to face her, conveying satisfaction. "Reports coming in from all sectors of the facility. You did an admirable job of thinning the numbers of defenders, in spite of your rather pell-mell dash through the corridors. It appears news has reached them of heavy fighting in Tempest Keep, and communications with the Exodar, Botanica, and Mechanar have gone silent. I am getting declarations of capitulation from quite a few groups." He fell silent, tweaking a few crystals. "Odd. The leader of the facility is not responding. His surrender would end resistance for good. But why on earth would he be silent?" His tone became quieter, almost as if he were musing to himself. "If he were dead a lieutenant would have taken control. Their protocols are quite clear on chain of command. I wonder-"

A crystal on one panel pulsed brightly, and the ambassador brightened. "Ah, here we are. Yes, yes, this is the leader, finally responding. It seems he's-" the ethereal broke off, tone changing. "Oh. Oh dear."

Saire didn't like that tone at all. "What's "oh dear"? What's going on?"

Gava'sikh's fingers flew across one panel, and then his hand shifted to another panel close by and he began working both in tandem. Then he actually drifted off the floor, the bandaging around his toes shifting and reforming to form two more hands which also went to work. "Oh I must say. Those paranoid geniuses. They leave nothing to chance, do they?"

"What!" Saire demanded, stepping forward.

The ethereal didn't slow his efforts as he responded. "It seems the most high-security portion of the facility, the Core, is not accessible from the control room. Understandable, in a way. The Core holds creatures so vile and dangerous accidental release could result in massive suffering and loss of life. There are numerous failsafes surrounding the containment fields on Core cells, and they can only be opened from within the Core itself. Needless to say, there is a full-time guard on the Core, a score of the Arcatraz's most dangerous fighters."

"So a force of resisting draenei have holed up there?" she asked. Gava'sikh nodded, then his head lengthened and formed a fifth hand, working frantically. "Why is this such a problem? They can't take control of the Arcatraz from that location, can they?"

"No of course they cannot. The control room is the final defense against all other containment breaches, allowing the draenei to send the vessel to its destruction with all aboard rather than letting them go free." Gava'sikh sighed. "Unfortunately it seems that this commendable suicidal zeal has fled from our good Arcatraz warden."

"What does that mean?" Lanthan'ar demanded.

"It means, good Spell Breaker, that he is threatening to release the prisoners within the Core."

**. . . . .**

She was relieved to see that Gava'sikh's demand that the hallways leading up from the control room to the Core be cleared was honored, for they saw no enemies as they made their way up. For some reason the ambassador and his two escorts accompanied her group when they left, leaving the control room sealed so only the ethereals could access it again. It seemed madness to leave it empty after they'd gone to so much effort to take it, but Gava'sikh had insisted his escorts accompany him. He'd been equally adamant about coming himself.

So they made their way up the ramps and upward-sloping corridors of the Arcatraz, Saire feeling very vulnerable in spite of the progress they'd made. At the entrance to the Core they encountered a score of draenei, the "full-time guards" the ethereal had mentioned. To her surprise the draenei all threw aside their weapons. They even had rope with them, or some sort of strong slender cord, and they allowed themselves to be bound. Saire left her people guarding these draenei as she entered the room.

It was massive. If it was at the apex of the Arcatraz it had to fill the entire top floor of it. Hundreds of yards across and almost as tall, and all made of smooth, glowing purple-white crystal.

In spite of the size of the room there were only ten cells within it, each large as a small house. The forcefields covering their open fronts were different as well, far more opaque and shimmering faster than any she had seen before. It took her several moments of staring to realize that it was because there were multiple forcefields layered close together in an intricate weave that made them incredibly stable and secure against attacks, either from within or from without.

It took only a cursory glance of the creatures inside to realize why these cells were so large and sturdy. One held a massive red demon resembling a draenei that was obviously an eredar, and even from this distance and through the forcefields blocking its cell she could feel its malignant power. In another was imprisoned a massive creature that looked like an insect with eight legs supporting a spider-like body with a sturdy trunklike torso rising from the middle of it. Just looking at the thing made disturbing thoughts skitter through her mind like fingers of madness. In another a creature like a serpent of fire appeared to sleep, and she recognized it as one of the greater fire elementals, an elemental lord from the Plane of Fire.

Looking tiny in another of the massive cells she saw an ethereal, bound in humanoid shape with odd shimmering black cloth like nothing she'd ever seen before, though the creature's energy blazed bright enough to shine right through the cloth in many places. Nexus-Prince Shaffar, she presumed.

So this was the core of Arcatraz, where the most dangerous of all the prisoners of the naaru were housed. She suddenly had a profound respect for the draenei who had maintained this place, and fought so desperately to prevent these fiends from escaping. And thinking of those draenei allowed her to tear her eyes from the containment cells and to a bank of controls near the back of the room, directly beneath the largest of the cells where the odd insect-creature was kept. At that bank stood a draenei so burned and battered she hardly recognized him as the leader of the defenders who'd met her at the entrance. He was shaking visibly, swaying so precariously that it looked as if he'd fall over at any moment, and there was a wild madness in his eyes.

One twisted claw of a hand was hovering over a pulsing white sphere, the crystal plate which had covered it shattered into pieces over the control panel. With horrified certainty she knew it was the control which would release all of these monsters, and she was just as certain that in his despair this draenei would set them all free.

This was the reason Lokiv had sent her into the Arcatraz. To prevent this very disaster from occurring, or find a way to contain it in the worst-case scenario that it did.

"Oh my." She whirled to see Ambassador Gava'sikh and its two escorts moving into the room, the spectral afterimages of themselves trailing behind. The ambassador was intent on the draenei, and even without expression or body language she could tell it was alarmed. "This is a very volatile situation. I would not wish to be myself at this moment."

Saire fought the urge to run. Even if she did some of these creatures looked as if they could tear the Arcatraz apart pursuing her. "You can communicate with this draenei?"

"I can. Though in past encounters with the Exiles I've found them to be somewhat stuffy and judgmental." Gava'sikh rubbed its "chin". "To be honest I'm somewhat surprised a draenei would even threaten such a thing. They were instrumental in capturing many of these creatures, and should be horrified at the thought of releasing them."

"Perhaps you should remind him of that." Saire paused. "I'd recommend doing so as diplomatically as you can."

Gava'sikh conveyed a sort of superior amusement. "My dear corporeal, whenever are we not diplomatic?" It took a few careful steps forward, its cultured voice speaking to the draenei in Draenish. The draenei growled something in response, and his mangled hand dropped a fraction closer to the glowing sphere. The ethereal's words quickened, conveying more urgency. The draenei made another reply, his words sounding weary and garbled even though she couldn't understand them. He looked on the point of dropping dead. Gava'sikh answered, then turned to Saire with an air of apology. "He demands you quit the Arcatraz and release all his people. Within the next hour. Any other outcome will result in him freeing these creatures."

Saire stared at the injured draenei with narrowed eyes. She was somewhat doubtful the blue creature could even survive an hour in its current state. "Inform the draenei that we have the control room sealed, and the forcefield protecting the entrance to Arcatraz is intact. If he releases these creatures they will remained contained within this facility, and the control room has defenses enough to keep them from breaking through. As he should well know. We will retain control of the Arcatraz, and the only result of him freeing these dark creatures will be that they will prowl through the entire facility slaughtering all of his people we have already taken prisoner or left unharmed in our wake."

Gava'sikh hesitated. "Are you sure you wish me to convey this threat? If these creatures are freed anyone not in the control room will surely die, including us, and this draenei has nothing to lose."

"My master Prince Kael'thas has the power to subdue these creatures, or if not he then his master Illidan. Arcatraz _will_ fall under our control, the only question is whether any draenei will survive its capture. The answer to that question lies in this draenei's hands. Be sure he is aware we promise healing for him, and protection for all of his people if he surrenders."

Gava'sikh hesitated, staring at her eyelessly for a long while. Then it turned and spoke calmly and quickly to the draenei. The creature's hand spasmed over the release control, dropping towards then jerking away from it half a dozen times in the span of ten seconds. Gava'sikh's flow of words didn't falter in the slightest during this, and Saire couldn't help but be impressed at the ethereal's self-control.

After what seemed an eternity the ethereal fell silent, expectant. Anguish raged across the draenei's face and he began mumbling to himself, hand trembling until he slammed it onto the panel beside the control sphere, where he held it shaking as he hunched in sudden pain. When he answered his voice was just over a whisper, thick with the effort of speaking. Gava'sikh nodded and turned to her. "He has a condition. He will step away from the release control with your promise to free all of his people aboard the Arcatraz."

"You know we can't do that," Saire answered, though she dearly wanted to shout yes.

As if the draenei understood her words he spoke, swift and fierce. Gava'sikh nodded again. "He is willing to swear on his people's honor that if you release them, they will not raise up arms against you save you raise arms against them first. They will not take part in any further fighting between the blood elves and the draenei." At Saire's disbelieving look the ethereal shrugged. "It is a fairly common practice among the draenei, accepted by the orcs in their dealings with them as well. There has been no known incident of draenei breaking this pact." It paused, then continued significantly. "Ever."

Saire thought of the children huddled in that room near the entrance, hiding tiny heads beneath the puddle of their teacher's skirt. Of the defenders fighting through every corridor. Of Galan being dragged away by the draenei, but never used as a hostage against them. "I accept," she said, sincerely hoping she was making the right decision. "Inform the draenei that he has my word. If he and his people surrender and swear to never raise arms against us again, conditional on our nonaggression towards them specifically, we will let them go. Not only that, but we will take up their duties of keeping the prisoners aboard the Arcatraz contained for as long as this facility is under our control."

Gava'sikh relayed her words, and after a pause that seemed like an eternity the draenei slumped to the ground and went still, hand sliding away from that perilous glowing sphere and down the side of the panel until it rested atop his chest. Although the ethereal displayed no body language Saire could have sworn its shoulders sagged slightly. "I believe that is answer enough."

. . . . .

After a long, relieved pause while the draenei leader was carried from the room and intercepted by two robed draenei who immediately got to work healing him, the ethereal bustled forward and hunched over the control panel, very noticeably avoiding the glowing sphere. Its long, delicate runecloth-wrapped fingers danced over the controls. Then it motioned to its escorts and moved over to the cell where Nexus-Prince Shaffar stood just inside the forcefield, practically leaning against it with anxious anticipation.

Saire followed more slowly, watching in bemused curiosity as one of Gava'sikh's escorts produced a tiny glowing cube and set it just outside the forcefield. Gava'sikh moved over to a crystal beside the cell and fiddled with it for a few moments, then spoke. "My dear Nexus-Prince Shaffar. How excited you must be to see us."

Shaffar's answer came not from the ethereal itself but from the crystals Gava'sikh leaned over, and she realized the forcefield blocked sound from passing through it. "Why thank you. Although it shames me to admit you have me at a disadvantage in that I do not recognize you, nor have I heard anything of you."

Gava'sikh sounded amused. "And that is the only way in which I have you at a disadvantage?" it answered. "But in any case I am Ambassador Gava'sikh, leader of the Outland exploration and assessment team, affiliation Consortium."

Shaffar laughed, an oddly rich sound for having no throat. "The Consortium? When did Haramad drag up enough resources to pull that collection of netherchaff out of the lower planes?"

The ambassador conveyed extreme affront, and for once its tone was not perfectly cultured and polite. "You've been away a long time, Nexus-Prince. And it is indeed only courtesy which compels me to use that honorific. The Qiv are extinct, their assets liquidated and their energy repurposed to cover outstanding debts. Those who survived the takeover have mostly become test subjects in the Nexus-Stalker Project. I have no more desire to speak with you than you have to speak with me, and bear no mistake that I would as happily end this conversation presently."

If anything, the former Nexus-Prince only looked more amused. "Then perhaps you should." Gava'sikh made no response, and Shaffar laughed again. "And yet you do not, hmm?"

"You are, of course, of potential value to us," the ambassador admitted reluctantly. "Being the sole survivor of the Qiv liquidation you're the inheritor of all Qivvi personal assets. You are, in effect, a very wealthy man. And seeing as how you are rich, and we are your new captors, I believe a ransom is in order. Unless you find you enjoy continued imprisonment?"

Shaffar turned toward Saire. "Corporeal, perhaps this is the ideal time to bring you into this discussion."

Gava'sikh curtly motioned for Saire to step back. "Abandon that tact, Nexus-Prince. We have already purchased you from the corporeals."

"A pity." The former Nexus-Prince sighed and was silent for a long moment. "Very well. Let us discuss ransom."

What followed was a somewhat incomprehensible exchange of terms Saire had absolutely no familiarity with. It sounded something like "let us agree that the proximate ferbunate of your gargibles shall be mooble arbed in Consortium daggle blats to the second geveral Nether Zone, conditional on fanfurgle divurnates kaliming to the gifeltafish." Although there was much more of it. After a few minutes the two ethereals seemed to come to some agreement and Gava'sikh motioned to one of his escorts, who knelt over the odd glowing cube and probed at it. The cube split apart into four smaller cubes which drifted away from each other, creating a sort of darklight from its center.

"If you will disrobe, Nexus-Prince," Gava'sikh said politely. Shaffar willingly slipped out of his shimmery black wrappings, leaving himself glowing brilliantly in his unbound state. With a gesture toward his escorts Gava'sikh manipulated the crystal cell controls some more, and with a final hum the layers of forcefields winked away. The escorts began glowing, tendrils of energy wisping through their wrappings to drift towards the unbound ethereal, encircling it in ribbons of softly glowing energy. They began guiding the enclosed ethereal towards the four darklit cubes.

Before they could move it too far, however, Shaffar's energy bunched together and drifted down to settle atop its black wrappings. Somehow it produced an ordinary-seeming stone from within the pile of shimmering cloth. Black light pulsed from the stone, sending Saire staggering backwards, and she heard the two escorts give haunting otherworldly cries, the tendrils surrounding Shaffar dissolving like mist, and then the energy within their wrappings exploded outward in all directions. The wrappings fell to the floor, looking almost forlorn, and Saire was certain the two ethereals the wrappings had encased were destroyed.

Gava'sikh staggered backward, drifting off the floor for several feet before landing once more. "How did you smuggle K'areshium into that cell!" the ambassador cried, horrified.

Shaffar laughed again, a low, sinister sound. Its black wrappings rose up off the floor and began looping around the former Nexus-Prince, encasing it in humanoid form once more with a sort of leisurely calm. "Fragments of the Homeworld don't seem to draw much interest from corporeals. To most of them this little rock must have seemed no more exciting than any stone of their own planet. They wouldn't have been able to detect Dimensius's void essence within it."

The ambassador produced some sort of device, holding it uncertainly. "The trick of surprise won't work twice."

Shaffar tucked the stone into its wrappings and stepped from the cell, breathing deeply. "Ah, to cross that line. It seems no different from one side to the other. But you cannot imagine how many centuries I've spent staring at this little patch of floor, imagining setting foot upon it." He turned to where Gava'sikh stood, conveying amusement. "Put that toy away, Ambassador. You set me free, and for that I am not ungrateful. I will not even stoop so far as to entrap you in the Cryo-Containment device you had planned for me." The freed ethereal turned and began walking towards the door. Saire made a move to halt him, and Shaffar turned to face her. "No no, little corporeal. There is no need for you to become involved in this. I will be gone from this prison soon and you need fear nothing from me." Saire hesitated, but in truth she had no desire to challenge the mysterious ethereal. Not in her current state.

As Shaffar continued to the door Gava'sikh called out. "You realize you've broken compact. The entire Ethereum will be after you for this. And the Consortium will not forget nor forgive the debt you've agreed upon. Haramad will have your wrappings for a plaything."

"It would not be the first time I've faced the Ethereum's disapproval," Shaffar said, sounding wholly unconcerned. "Besides, as you yourself said I am wealthy. Beyond that, I've unearthed a delicious tip about a location called Auchindoun that has a supply of arcane collectibles. The trove I've found will cause anyone who hears of it to lose plasmoid control in their excitement. I'll soon have an army of drifters at my beck." It laughed. "Who knows, perhaps I'll even resurrect Qiv and repay old debts. Do give Haramad my best regards when next you see him. Is he still conducting business only by hologram for fear of assassination? Paranoid fool...he'll have a hard time having my wrappings for a plaything hidden away as is his wont." Shaffar waved a hand. "No matter. Until next we have cause to bargain, little Gava'sikh."

The former Nexus-Prince disappeared through the doorway, leaving Gava'sikh standing beside his unused containment device, looking as close to anger as she had ever seen one of the ethereals.


	22. Gods and Demons

Hey guys finally updated.

First off I'd like to say I'm really sorry it took me so long. I realize excuses are just a waste of time, but I'd at least like to offer an explanation.

Since the last update I've completed two full novels and submitted them to publishers. Waiting for them to get back to me with the inevitable rejections, but until then I'll finally finish the last few chapters of DHO.

Chapter Twenty-One

Gods and Demons

After a time spent watching the ethereal as it knelt, looking surprisingly human in its bitter defeat, Saire began moving about the room, looking at the prisoners in their cells.

She was simultaneously intrigued and disgusted by the creatures in this room. Elementals, demons, and twisted creatures all. The eredar tried to speak to her through the impermeable shield, and as she passed the creature like a massive bug she felt cold, alien tendrils brushing her mind, and moved away with a shudder of disgust.

Then, to her surprise, she found that not all the cells were occupied.

At first the cell to the back of the room on the left side appeared empty, but as she approached-to make sure it wasn't holding some small creature-she saw that it in fact held a pedestal along its back wall. Like a display case in a museum, holding on three odd prongs a longsword.

Anasterian's balls, what a sword.

Perhaps a few inches shorter than most she'd seen, with a slender, tapered blade of glowing white that looked wicked sharp. The hilt-guard was a full mesh cage of some gleaming silvery wire, and the hilt itself was a succession of large diamonds fused together and wrapped in gold wire, the pommel an even larger diamond that seemed to gather the light and reflect it right into her eyes with mesmerizing intensity.

The sheath, lying on the pedestal beneath this weapon of indescribable beauty, was so bulky it might have been designed to hold a far heavier weapon.

"Gava'sikh," she murmured. The ethereal didn't move. "Ethereal, get over here."

Gava'sikh stood and moved smoothly over to where she stood. He made a noise of awed surprise. "A prize of great value."

Saire quirked her lips in a smile. "More value than the diamonds and gold?"

"The diamonds and gold can dissipate their essence around a lodestone," the ethereal retorted. "Can you not feel its power?"

Saire hesitated, then shook her head. "Open the cell."

Gava'sikh paused, suddenly uneasy. "The draenei hold nothing captive without cause."

She turned a disgusted look on the wrapped individual. "It's a damn sword, Gava'sikh. Why the hell would they be imprisoning a sword?"

"I admit I cannot think of a reason for such behavior. However to find it held in a room containing the most dangerous beings imprisoned in the Arcatraz is rather telling, wouldn't you say?"

After a moment contemplating the weapon, or more accurately basking in its loveliness, she snorted. "They likely did not wish it stolen. Where better to hold it for safekeeping than here?"

"If such is the case then one would surmise that only the sword's owner would be in a position to open the cell and retrieve the blade. In which case our-"

"Just shut up and open the cell."

Gava'sikh stiffened with affront. "Very well."

Saire tore her gaze from the remarkable weapon long enough to watch the ethereal make his way over to the panel and, with all the caution of a snake-charmer drawing closer to a hooded adder, begin working the controls. As she turned back to her inspection of the weapon she heard him grunt with surprise, and then the barrier before her shimmered and fell away.

"No special protections upon it. Odd, as if like the others the barrier was intended to keep it from escaping, and not to ward thieves."

She ignored the foolish creature's nattering as waves of power washed over her, nearly driving her back a step. But the power reassured her for it was the power of the Light, more strongly than she'd ever felt from any holy weapon. It made no sense that such a weapon could be anything but good, for evil creatures withered under such power, and to hold it would fill them with agony.

Slowly, almost reverently, she stepped forward into the cell. With trembling fingers her hand closed around the weapon.

**NEX!**

Saire squeaked in shock and jerked her hand away, dislodging the weapon and sending it clattering to the stone floor, where it rested unmarred by its brief journey.

Nex? Why on earth would a sword imprisoned in the Arcatraz be calling out for that human? That _demonic_ human, when this was obviously a holy blade. Not to mention Nex could not be older than a score of years, and this sword held the weight of antiquity, and by the dust upon the pedestal and sheath had been in this cell for ages unguessed.

She warily reached down and lightly rested a finger on the hilt, flinching in spite of herself, then in reality as a torrent of words washed over her.

**-su'kuvrash Nex ovin'batal es-kintuck bushar da'vrol Nex-thanarak est'venush-**

She tore her finger away, shuddering and even more confused and dismayed. A holy sword, brimming with the power of the Light. Obviously sentient and speaking, of all things, demonic.

And calling for Nex. At least she could only assume so, since she didn't speak demonic.

"I do say, doesn't the power of the Light feel absolutely stuffy? Makes me want to find myself a nice container of ethermead."

Saire ignored the ethereal, carefully reaching forward to once again touch the hilt, hunching her shoulder against the tide of words, spoken as if by a madman. _Shut up!_ she snapped.

The sword went quiescent beneath her hand. **No. Absolutely not. You're not the right one. **A forceful laugh. **Don't you understand? Doesn't anyone understand? I must bring Nex. I must bring Nothing. Only after Nex'kushal divaradus akh misrak edevis rebuild it beautiful with no hint of corruption!**

She stared down at the weapon. _I don't know what you're talking about._

**NEX! NEX! Help me in my goal to bring all to Nothing! Why can't he see that it's the only way?**

_Why can't who see_? She asked in mounting frustration. The sword's only answer was to continue in its ranting. With a growl she pushed to her feet, lifting the weapon, and fumbling for the dusty, bulky sheath she slipped the blade inside. As soon as it was fully seated the power of the Light around her diminished, and the voice ranting in her thoughts faded to a whisper.

"Do we wish to bring that?" Gava'sikh asked uneasily. "I believe some caution should be taking in bringing anything from this room. Perhaps we should speak to the drae . . . nei . . ."

The ethereal trailed off as Saire slung the sheath over one shoulder by a thick leather strap and started for the door, leaving him behind. "This sword apparently belongs to someone," she said.

. . . . .

Nex had to, briefly, wonder if dimensional technology was being employed within Tempest Keep.

It seemed like he'd been running these halls for ages, working his way ever deeper while doing his best with clever pathing and psychic gymnastics to keep defenders off his back. In truth there weren't as many defenders as he'd expected, most probably along the outer edges of the keep fighting off encroaching blood elves; he'd managed to get in behind the defenses. Still, it seemed like the place was much, much bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.

But no, that was just an illusion caused by narrow hallways with multiple twistings and intersections. His sense of spacial recognition was good enough to realize that for all the seemingly endless dizzying maze he passed through, he _was_ getting closer to the center. Rooms were getting larger and better-defended, vital areas within the heart of the keep. He was getting close, he just had to keep going.

That thought was running through his head as he tore around another corner to see a pair of defenders rushing down the hallway towards him.

The two draenei went still, staring at him in surprise. Obviously they hadn't expected to find an enemy so deep within Tempest Keep. Nex raised a hand, palm outward, and spoke commandingly. "Dranot tov tandranot!" In Draenish it meant "flee or flee-by-kneeling", tandranot being the closest word the draenei had to "surrender". Veilan had been loathe to divulge any information, but he had shown Nex how to speak those words after being convinced of the innocents which could be saved by compelling them to surrender. Nex had already used them to convince over a dozen draenei to flee rather than fighting. A few had even knelt while he passed by.

But his offer went unheeded here. One of the draenei cried out and charged forward, hammer held low as he ran, while the other lagged behind a few steps trying to draw his sword. Both skidded to a halt, however, when Nex abruptly disappeared.

The draenei swordsman crumpled to the ground a moment later with his spinal cord severed, the same first blow Nex had struck at Puros what seemed an eternity ago. Unlike the human paladin, however, the Light wasn't with this draenei; he was dead before he hit the ground.

The warrior with the hammer was just beginning to look around, searching for him, as Nex closed the few feet separating them and slammed his dagger into the tangle of tentacles that covered the creature's neck. Bluish-red blood spurted and the warrior gurgled. It tried to swing its hammer, but halfway through the motion the weapon dropped from its limp fingers. A moment later it was on the ground, scrabbling at its throat.

Farther down the hall he heard a clatter of hooves, and glanced up to see several draenei fleeing. They weren't the first who had fled from him, or simply cowered in fear as he passed, but like the others he ignored them and continued on his way.

A hundred steps down the hallway it intersected with a smaller passage cutting out towards the outer edges of the floating fortress, away from where he wanted to go. From the two directions more suitable to reaching his end goal he heard shouting, obviously a large number of warriors defending some prized location. Probably warned by the fleeing draenei.

Damn, he sometimes wondered why he bothered with expediency in allowing noncombatants to live.

Glancing along the two undesirable routes with a grimace of distaste, he finally lifted his gaze to a slight warping of the hallway's ceiling. He knew from experience that there were ventilation shafts in the walls and ceilings, bringing fresh air to all parts of the keep. He'd used them on one occasion to make his way past a strongpoint. Not long after that, though, he'd abandoned the practice when passing through the narrow cramped shaft had triggered some sort of automated defenses and he'd nearly been crisped by a beam of energized particles.

A risk, certainly, and more of one since he couldn't be sure the bulge up there was a shaft like the one he'd used before. With time he could have found an opening and worked his way inside. Unfortunately by the sounds of approaching pursuit he didn't have time. Either run out of his way or take a gamble.

His Blinkstrike finished stabilizing just before the voice just ahead rounded the corner, and he dropped to the ground, stretching flat and tight, then Blinked directly upwards through a wall he couldn't see past.

Through that endless moment he expected to feel agony as his flesh fused with the odd metal and stone that made up the walls and ceilings of this keep, and the breath hissed from his lungs as he felt air all around him, hovered for a moment, then dropped six inches to thud against the bottom of the shaft.

_Lucky._

It took only a few moments to generate a shield such that it only protected him in front and behind, wasting no energy above or below. Then he was crabbing through the narrow space, dimly hearing the shouts and clatter below as defenders ran past. It took him almost as long to go fifty feet through the shaft as it had to go several hundred yards through the hallways below at a run, and as soon as he found a vent he kicked through it and dropped back into the hallway.

Nex paused, listening for a moment to see if the noise had drawn notice. It only took a moment to hear renewed shouting from both in front and behind. Cursing, he sprinted forward and rounded the bend ahead, pausing at the threshold to a large chamber.

It was filled with enemies.

. . . . .

Shit. There had to be at least fifty draenei guardians there, armored like paladins with a few robed men behind, mages or priests.

Shit. He'd already wasted more energy than he could spare on Blinks and various minor psychic pushes on groups of enemies to keep their attention from him. Not to mention far more energy-intensive shields.

What did he do here? Most of his martial prowess came from surprising his enemies with his speed and strength in spite of his diminutive size and his obvious proficiency as a spellcaster. Not to mention his Blinkstrike. He could take down small groups that way, with luck, but he couldn't fight his way through so many. Not even close.

To add to that he had a god to face at the end of this madcap dash through an enemy fortress. Any strength he expended reaching the naaru would be less he could bring to bear against his terrible, likely unbeatable foe.

The draenei had started to rush forward at sighting him, but when he paused so did they, and now they were approaching cautiously, moving to ring the archway and obviously waiting for their comrades rushing him from behind. They spoke nothing of surrender, and in their eyes he could see the intent to kill him.

Wonderful. He had no desire to kill anyone, but as soon as a creature attacked him as far as he was concerned they waived their rights to, well, continue living. He could kill these creatures, perhaps, although it would cost him; he could already feel the casters behind laying down layers of magic to silence him, feel his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth, his power being subdued and restrained. Minor cantrips, for all the worry they caused, and he could tear through them easily. But he didn't need to.

To the abyss with these fools. For once he wouldn't fight.

His Blinkstrike required no spoken words, and pushing power into it he extended the artifact's matrix as far as it would go, taking him across the room and into the massive chamber. Not into an open space, but directly into the largest clump of creatures, who had hung back and let their fellows engage him so they could continue guarding a large archway leading into another chamber.

As draenei all around swore and either dove aside in panic or threw themselves at him with surprising presence of mind, he tore his way free of the magical silencing effects. Gathering a lamentable amount of energy into a psychic attack he threw his head back and screamed.

Draenei all around him bolted in panic, fouling the attempts of those outside the howl of terror's radius to reach him. Nex bolted as well, through the archway and into the room beyond, ducking and weaving as spells and gunfire from their energy weapons hissed around him. Common sense screamed for him to raise a protective shield around himself, but he couldn't; he'd wasted enough energy already.

Before him was a long, wide room like an antechamber to a king's great hall, the walls glittering with multicolored crystals spraying the pure white stones beneath his feet with a stained-glass pattern of light. At the end of the antechamber a massive door of cloudy glass warded passage through to the next chamber, bracketed by odd devices and strange lights. Twenty feet above that door a large circular balcony loomed, looking like some sort of vantage from which a prophet or priest could exhort his followers in the antechamber below.

The massive glass door was closed, and must have warded something significant for three figures stood before it, barring the way. Nex had no way of being certain, and yet he was:

He'd found the chamber where the god-being he'd come to face awaited him.

. . . . .

A cacophony behind him spurred him onward, and Nex dove through the archway and to his left, following the wall so those in the room behind him wouldn't have a clear line of sight until they either entered the antechamber or he was nearly to the door ahead of him. Not trusting to that, however, he sprinted across the chamber with all his speed, cursing that his Blinkstrike was still far too destabilized to use, and would be for a good couple of minutes yet.

At that glass door the three guardians hadn't moved. The two to either side were warriors or paladins, encased in heavy grayish-white armor and with massive warhammers in hand, standing protectively in front of the third. Those warhammers were the same as that first one he'd seen, the incredible weapon the Broken draenei he'd encountered had carried but been too impure to use or even touch. The weapon that damned creature had then gifted to Lightfinder.

The center figure, a robed draenei, stood with a staff raised over its head. The staff was of some smooth, polished metal, its head adorned with an odd tangled pattern that was irritating to try to follow with the eye.

Nex slowed to a stop ten yards away, aware that the pursuers behind him had stopped as well and were moving to cut off his retreat, but not overtly attacking. A thing of honor, perhaps? Leaving him to be defeated by one of the prestigious guardians ahead? He dropped his hand to grip the pommel of his Blinkstrike. "Draenei guardians." He gestured at the door. "If that's your naaru in there I wish to speak with him. You should not try to bar my way. Dranot tov tandranot."

The robed draenei's beard-tentacles writhed as his face darkened in anger. "Ko'vot dranot nish tandranot! Siu du nish visha." Holy energy began gathering around him.

Nex sighed. "Really, I'm getting sick of going out of my way to save you idiots. Just step aside and-"

The holy creature's voice thundered through the large room, cutting him off. "SIU. DU. NISH. VISHA!" he cried, shaking his staff, then slamming its butt down onto the pure white stone. A sound like a hammer striking a bell filled the chamber, reverberating oddly.

Another voice joined the draenei's, this one in a language Nex recognized, and a moment later a ball of fire the size of his fist that blazed like the sun hissed in from the side and struck the robed draenei in the head. It exploded against some sort of holy shield, saving the draenei's life, but the force was still enough to send the creature flying. The two hammer-wielders spun, bellowing, only to stagger back under the charge of two Spell Breakers, warglaives spinning and dancing in their hands. The draenei managed to fend off the attacks, but the fury of the blood elves sent them quick-stepping backward in controlled retreat. Nex turned to see Theril standing in a recessed doorway off to the left, hands glowing bluish-white as he prepared a frost spell. "Go!" the mage shouted.

Nex nodded and glanced up to the balcony hanging above the glass door. There was a smaller door there, equally ornate. And conveniently free of guardians. As the draenei warriors finally set their feet and met the Spell Breakers' charge, wielding their massive hammers with surprising skill and speed, Nex focused the location of the balcony in his mind and pushed energy through the Blinkstrike.

Agony seared up his arm even as his feet settled onto the stone of his balcony, so intense that it knotted the muscles in his arm and set them spasming. He looked down with horror to see the weapon in his fist softening like butter in a fire, turning to slag in his hand. With a bellow of pain he opened his fingers from the hilt and shook his hand desperately, but the metal was fused to his flesh, refusing to fall. With renewed desperation he drew his belt knife with his left hand and pried at the destroyed dagger until it finally came free and fell away, leaving a coating of dully-glowing molten metal across his ruined hand.

Cursing, Nex tried to wipe his hand on his cloak, and with a hiss of burning wool the metal fused to his hand to the cloth. The resulting pain almost made him pass out, and he froze, breath hissing through his teeth as he flooded power into his demon skin and struggled to keep his mind clear.

Fool. He was a godsdamn fool. He'd used the Blinkstrike to go forty yards not two minutes ago, and the weapon's spell matrix had still been destabilized when he'd blindly used it. Using it again had pushed it past its limits, causing the power imbued into the weapon to release in an instantaneous flash. He was lucky the thing hadn't exploded and torn him apart with fragments of liquid steel.

Somehow he managed to close his grip around the charred cloth of his cloak and lock it there. His hand would be useless until it could be healed, and by someone with more skill than he possessed, and he no longer had his most favored weapon.

But it didn't matter. The enemy he now faced couldn't be stabbed with daggers.

. . . . .

Moments later he was testing the smaller door at the back of the balcony. Locked, but he was pleased to find that the glass shattered with only a few blows from his belt knife's pommel. He cleared away a hole large enough to squeeze through and entered, finding himself on a large ornately railed walkway that circled the edges of a massive room.

Music drifted through the room, an oddly crystalline melody that seemed to harmonize with itself, as if from one source and countless sources simultaneously. Nex had little love of music, but he was sure that any master musician would call this noise beautiful. To him it was merely distracting, digging into his head and tugging at his emotions as if trying to evoke some response. He buried his emotions to defend himself and looked down at the floor below.

In the center of that floor a blindingly bright spell matrix of holy energy hung. Roughly twenty feet tall and fifteen wide, it was formed of holy runes and symbols he couldn't begin to decipher, filled with power he couldn't begin to comprehend. He'd never seen any spell so complex or powerful in his life, and he was sure it must be some defensive ward guarding the naaru he had come to subdue. A defense worthy of a god-being. He moved cautiously toward the bannister that overlooked the room.

There were pillars wider than he was tall spaced out every dozen yards or so along the walkway, and he moved to crouch behind one, peering at the spell matrix and trying to see past it to his target. But he couldn't see anything beyond the spell matrix but empty space. And that spell matrix held unbelievable power, more power than many beings he'd encountered. The spell matrix itself was nearly as powerful as Stormrage, suggesting that the being which had created it must possess incredible strength. Power greater than his master, contained in a mere spell. It was unbelievable, as unbelievable as-

Nex shook his head, frowning. As the notion teased his mind that this spell matrix didn't protect the naaru. That it _was_ the naaru. A living, sentient spellform enclosing the vast power of a god. A thing of such complexity that it approximated life. Energy given thought. A spell which cast itself.

Nex stared at the shifting spellform in awe. An evolving spell matrix, constantly morphing and changing. It had such breathtaking complexity that even if he could read the holy symbols and runes he was certain he'd be unable to decipher it. Not in a lifetime. Not in a million lifetimes, limited by his finite mind. It was unfathomable, plainly revealed for all to see, but none could ever control it for it was too infinite, too vast.

He had heard a religious zealot in Duskshire speak of the mind of a God, which saw all and knew all. Any man looking upon such omnipotence must surely go mad, the man had claimed, for to look upon infinity was to reduce your mind to the miniscule spec of existence it was. He had viewed such a notion as a metaphysical impossibility until now.

Until now.

Near one corner of the spellform that was the naaru he saw a flash, and within the shifting runes there he almost thought he could see himself. Concentrating so hard his mind strained he felt he could catch the briefest glimpse of how he must appear to the god-being's perception.

The naaru was aware of him. Perhaps had been for some time, but only when Nex had turned his own awareness fully upon the creature had it deigned to give him any attention. He stepped away from the pillar, feeling foolish for thinking a few feet of stone could hide him from this one's scrutiny. A pulse rippled through the complex spellform, and Nex felt a sensation of disapproval solid as a physical blow.

He shrugged it aside and stepped up onto the railing, then off, dropping the twenty feet to the ground below. For the last ten feet he activated minor levitation, slowing his descent until he landed solidly thirty feet in front of the naaru, alone with the god-being in a room large as any cathedral. Or at least he thought he'd landed solidly, but as he touched the ground and released the levitation spell his left leg buckled slightly beneath him. He curled his lip back in a slight snarl and pushed more energy into the demon skin, strengthening both his leg and the searing agony that was his hand. Had he taken a crippling wound on that leg without realizing it?

The spellform continued to swirl and shift as the naaru contemplated him. Nex felt a wash of energy flow over his mind, nothing so crude as a psionic attack. More that the naaru was focusing special attention his way, taking the time to understand him to the core of his being. Processing his every memory, every feeling, every desire, until it had a technically perfect map of his psyche that detailed him down to his every component molecule and yet somehow completely failed to understand him at all. Nex stood helpless under the search. He couldn't begin to know how to fight such an inexorable mental scrutiny. Even if he had, he probably wouldn't have been able to.

The background music that seemed to flow from the god-being juddered to a discordant chime, and in his mind he heard his name, expressed more perfectly than even demonic could manage. **NEX-THANARAK**.

He had always laughed at the notion that knowing a person's name gave you power over him. That was mysticism at its worst, and even voodooists scoffed at it. Yet in that name he saw the entirety of his being laid out, as if it were but a window to his true aspect. It made him dizzy and he staggered slightly, filled with a sudden fear that this creature could rewrite his identity with a word.

Then he straightened, focusing on the latent power of the Illidari stone humming within him. That small gesture gave him a sudden surge of confidence; there was power he could tap there, and more than the last time he'd done so. Perhaps this naaru could destroy him with a thought, but it wouldn't. Stormrage had been sure that the creature would not, perhaps could not, destroy him. Perhaps it would subdue him, but that was the greatest danger he faced.

"You've rudely stolen my name from me," he said into that musical air, and his words seemed to jangle with the haunting melody, almost as much as the naaru's discordant chime had. As if they were a softer continuation of that jarring sound. "Perhaps you could tell me yours in return."

A mental communication filled his thoughts, although the term "communication" probably degraded the perfection of it. By comparison Neltharaku's mental conversation was like the squalling of a baby. It revealed a name that was a song, and a word as endless and indecipherable as time itself. Not a word, but an endless flow of information, as if the naaru was naming itself by perfectly describing every component of its spellform and its entire long history. Nex reeled merely hearing it, and struggled to shut his mind off from the relentless flow before the information swept him away.

Then he smiled, ruthlessly abbreviating the name filling his mind. "M'uru," he whispered, and for a brief instant the music stilled, filling the room with terrible silence. How it must offend the creature to have all of its existence cut down to one syllable.

His brief moment of satisfaction fled, however, when M'uru's response came, not so much a mental sending as an overwhelming sense of surety. It mirrored his own feelings, turning his thoughts even darker with doubt.

No matter what he did here he was going to fail. Or better to say that M'uru would triumph.

"Your surety surprises me, naaru," he said into that relentless self-harmonizing music. "How will you triumph when you do nothing? Indeed, how can you do nothing when it means those you call your greatest enemies will win?"

Rather than a coherent answer, an image filled Nex's mind of the spellform before him pulsing, shattering Nex body and soul with the ease of a booted foot crushing a beetle. There was a hint of question in that image, of incomprehension. He smiled. "Yes, it does seem illogical for me to advise you to destroy your enemies, given that I am one of them. But then again, I don't believe you will turn to violence for once such as me, when you have stood by and watched much greater depravity."

More images, a intense yet chillingly logical and well-ordered stream of thought. Nex struggled to put it into words. "Would you claim your crimes less than those of the demons the naaru oppose? There comes a point when the darkness of a creature's actions precludes its potential for good. Whether the murder of a good man or the annihilation of a world, once that point is crossed all are by logic equally worthy of destruction."

"And yet you will not destroy me, will you?" Nex said, and his certainty grew at the naaru's troubled silence. "You've seen me. You know that for all my actions my goal is to turn myself against the Burning Legion."

"I cannot come to terms with this," M'uru conveyed. "You wield the corruption of the Burning Legion, yet your mind is not aligned with them. How can I commune with mortals when their thoughts and actions war with their very natures? We can only be what we are, that is logic."

Nex's mouth curled in contempt he made no effort to hide. "But we are not what we are. I use the demons' own magic against them, and I will until I die or there are no more demons left to destroy. For all my past crimes the devastation I would wreak upon the enemies of all existence makes me worthy of preservation so I can carry out my goal. That is sound logic, is it not?"

"Illogical. To use destruction to end destruction is a contradiction. The only way we can save ourselves from oblivion is to build faster than they can destroy, to contain faster than they can spread."

Nex laughed in disbelief. "It can't be done. In the end it'll all become corruption."

The naaru's link conveyed grim finality. "We fear that this is indeed the case. Yet to become destroyers ourselves would only hasten the end."

"Only if you carry the destruction past the end of the Burning Legion. Surgeons cut away cysts and infections all the time to the benefit of the host."

"Only because they know no better way. Such surgeries as often kill the patient as save them, the shock of having part of your body, even a malignant part, cut away is terrible."

"I cannot believe that this is the conclusion your kind has settled upon. What you call logic seems like assumptions based on faulty information."

M'uru conveyed, not exactly weariness, but a sense of futility. "We have been debating this for hundreds of of thousands of millennia, mortal. Destruction breeds an addiction greater even than corrupt magic. Sargeras the Dark Titan was the greatest and most virtuous of the Pantheon, yet after countless ages fighting the agents of entropy he began to glory in destruction as much as they did, and he came to the conclusion that only by destroying existence as it is now could he ever rebuild a perfect world where there is no destruction. We've done our best to preserve from the destroyers, but we will never employ their methods. To do so would create a conundrum not even mortals should be able to conceive of."

"Pure logic seems worthless, if its application engenders only inaction."

"Not inaction." Nex was treated to a particularly forceful and vivid stream of images from the naaru. The Arcatraz and countless places similar to it, where demons and other corrupt filth were captured and held for eternity. He saw great barriers to hold back the tide of demons pushing across the Twisting Nether. He saw worlds being tended, new life growing, safe for now from the ravages of the Burning Legion, even as more worlds were prepared even farther away in the infinite expanse.

"It is not enough. You know that. What point in buying time if there is no hope of victory in sight."

"We seek to preserve life until the end. It is what the naaru do."

Nex took a disappointed breath. He hadn't expected negotiation to work anyway. "You call mortals illogical, but I can appreciate your assertions. You do, however, realize their inevitable conclusion." _There can be no peace between us._

M'uru conveyed resignation. "I will try to contain you, mortal."

"You will fail," Nex said. He pushed back the hitch of fear at what tapping the Illidari stone would do to him, even as he seized the power. It flooded into him, the extra portion his master had promised. It filled him until he felt like he would explode, surged through his mind with a wildness that made him want to curl up into a ball and laugh until his lungs exploded. With this power he could challenge a god.

With this power he was going to defeat a god.

. . . . .

He could sense the naaru shifting, its power altering to create a protective shell around the delicate spellform within. At sensing his power, tapped from Stormrage's own, he felt the sadness M'uru conveyed, and the disgust. But no attacks were forthcoming, and Nex sensed in its intentions that none would. It was going to take the high road. Go the way of the boxer who stands idle, taking the hits of its opponent until that opponent was too weary to continue and could thus be overpowered without hurting him.

A foolish intentions, and one M'uru would regret.

For the moment Nex held the power of the Illidari stone ready, preparing it. Rather than unleash it all at once he divided it into two parts, one to dispel the naaru's protections, and another to during the brief time before M'uru rebuilt them anew unleash his real attack. M'uru seemed confident that it could resist the whole of the stone's power, and it was probably right in thinking so.

Smiling slightly, Nex struck.

Power roared through him, wracking him with physical pain as it passed. The first portion struck the defenses and shattered them, and the naaru pulsed, so blindingly bright that Nex had to look away even with his eyes scrunched shut. Then the second part of the attack struck, all at once.

The chiming within the room became a deafening clangor, and the blinding light faded and flickered alarmingly. Nex opened his eyes to see the spellform twisting, jerking, as magical energy wracked it.

Logically, a magical attack would simply damage the naaru. On the other hand burning a creature's mana also harmed that creature as the mana seared through its flesh to be released. Rarely did any creature possess enough mana that burning it all away would kill it. A naaru, on the other hand, had essentially nothing but mana to burn. _Was_ nothing but mana. So the spell proved to be doubly effective.

The light continued to flicker, parts of the spellform fading with a sort of keening wail as the storm of energy roared through the creature, continuing to burn its essence, and in doing so damaging the spellform contained in that essence.

But finally the spell faded, and though M'uru shimmered drunkenly and the spellform twisted and bulged, trying to rebuild itself, he could sense that all his gifted power hadn't been enough.

The naaru realized it as well. "Now you will submit to capture. Containment awaits you for your crimes, human."

"Shall I?" Nex's smile twisted wider. "That was just the blow to soften you up."

"It failed. You have used the greater portion of your power. What remains is miniscule, enough to effect no great damage to me in comparison to what you have already wrought. Nevertheless, if wasting what remains is what is required to guarantee your defeat and capture then strike out."

"It's not the size that matters, it's how you use it." Nex reached into his pouch and drew out the vial that had rested within its confines for weeks. Everything had a use, if one was willing to look for it. Even something so small as this.

He caught a hint of, not emotion, but strong reaction of some sort in the naaru's passionless sending. "I sense great corruption within what you hold."

"As you should." Nex pulled free the stopper. "I hold the blood of Aggonar, a Lord of the foul pits where degradation knows no bounds. A place that should not exist, but for the inaction of creatures such as you."

"Demon lord blood, young creature? Have you truly sunk so low?"

Nex snarled up at the brilliantly glowing god-being as he raised the flask. "Low is an insult highly dependent on perception. When used by a creature watching from on high as mortals struggle futilely against the naaru's own sworn enemies, it tends to lose much of its sting." He began casting, drawing upon shadows to bolster his swift draining reserves, so deeply that his head pounded and his vision flashed with white streaks of pain.

Aggonar's ichor rose slowly out of the flask in a bulbous cloud, swirling in a ball of dark flame. "But you could always prove me wrong, naaru. Show me your kind fights the Burning Legion. Show me you use your godlike powers to destroy those who threaten all existence. And no more laughable images of your precious Arcatraz where demons are held in stasis, ready to be released to ravage once more. Containment is doomed to failure, and you know it. So show me you're willing to do what you must to win against the Burning Legion, and kill me."

The next sending was so vague and jumbled that Nex had trouble deciphering it. It was obvious the creature was trying to stray from logic, and failing miserably. "In your mind I see clarity, as if you understand, but your words and actions make me think you must not. You know what the naaru are, and yet you tell us to be not what we are. There is no logic in this."

"If that confounds you, you're going to love this," Nex muttered, beginning to prepare the next stages of his spell.

Then the air in front of him began to shimmer. Nex tensed, poised to counter, but all that happened was the naaru's light began refracting around the area, creating a reflective surface facing him that was roughly four feet wide and six feet tall.

In that reflection he saw himself. But it wasn't himself.

. . . . .

The refracted surface revealed a creature of darkness and flame, small but terrible. A fiery mane of hair, skin shadowy and scaled, leaking shadows. Eyes blazing with reddish-white fire, horns beginning to take shape above his ears, curling vague and half-visible to circle his head like a wreath. Cloth melding to shadowy flesh, not emaciated and showing ribs but defined with indistinct muscle.

He'd feared this. The metamorphosis should have ended when he rid himself of the power of the Illidari stone, which is one of the reasons he'd held onto it so briefly and used it so swiftly. But apparently it was not enough. As with all demonic corruption, it came stronger and stronger the longer such powers were abused.

Since he'd been made aware of the change by Saire, he could now feel it acutely, had felt it all the while he'd drawn upon the Illidari stone. It had progressed very far, and in the presence of Aggonar's blood, his corruption, Nex instinctively felt that he was on the verge of full demonic metamorphosis. It would not take much effort to complete the transformation, if he so wished.

But what would be the gains of such a form, and at what cost? He didn't know, and dared not take any risks with such volatile and unpredictable experimentation in the midst of a confrontation with a god-being of Light. In truth, the loathing he felt at viewing his half-transformed state was so great he wasn't sure he ever wanted to attempt to complete the metamorphosis, whatever the potential gains. Even when the surge of magic addiction had pounded at him, as he held the full power of the Illidari stone in his grasp, he wasn't so far gone as to become what he despised.

What if, after completing the metamorphosis, he was unable to find his way back to human form? Or, more likely, when the metamorphosis drained him and he reverted back, what if there were irreversible changes, such as Stormrage had suffered when consuming the skull of Gul'dan? It was impossible to cleanse oneself of the taint of demonic magic, as the Broken draenei proved; if the Light could have cleansed them, the awesomely powerful naaru would have done so long ago.

"Now I finally witness the disgust you feel for the power you wield. Too late, and only when you see its horrible effects for yourself."

"Easy to judge those you set yourself above, refusing to join them in the struggle that sets them to such desperate measures." Nex tore his eyes away from his own horrible visage and began manipulating the cloud of tainted pit lord essence once more.

"You have no idea what you would unleash, were you to do as you intend." The communication was subdued, the naaru itself subdued, the spellform glowing dully as it struggled to rebuild itself. It was obvious M'uru was even now struggling to understand how Nex could do what he was about to do.

But the creature could not. It possessed sentience, but not intelligence. It possessed logic, but not intuition. And they were just too different. Too vastly different. This creature had been born in some storm of energy in the Twisting Nether. It had experienced nothing of the torment Nex had suffered in his early years at the hands of his own kind. It knew nothing of suffering, of pain. It looked at the destruction and depravity of the Burning Legion through an impassive lens, all the suffering tallied in a column measuring losses on a macro scale Nex couldn't even comprehend. It could not know Nex's implacable hatred for the demons who'd so tormented him. Nex fear of becoming what he despised. His determination to sink even to that depth if it meant he could destroy the Burning Legion.

All the naaru could understand was that it never wanted to become like the demons it opposed. Even if it meant watching all creation destroyed around it.

Well. He was about to show the bastard its own worst nightmare. Thrust a ball of corruption right into that pristine matrix of Holy Light. Let it see what it was like to suffer. Not to watch suffering, not to tsk at it like an old biddy, but to really feel it.

Just before he could unleash that ball into the defenses the naaru scrabbled to prepare, the image within that refracted light changed. Instead of the half-demon form he'd assumed, and would hold until he could rid himself of Aggonar's foul essence and work to return to his human shape, he saw a man arrayed in bright-polished armor. A man holding a shield with the lion of Azeroth roaring at him from his shiny surface. A man with gray in his hair and a look of horror and anguish in his eyes.

"By the Light, boy," Puros Lightfinder whispered. "What have you become?"

Nex staggered away, nearly losing his control of Aggonar's essence. And in his shocked state M'uru unleashed a stream of images upon him. "How is this man who was forever your enemy also whispering as your conscience, human?" the naaru conveyed.

Nex snapped his gaze up at the M'uru, eyes narrowed in suspicion and rage. "You're toying with my emotions? If you seek to drive me from my course you could not have picked a worse tact."

"I show you your own thoughts, hidden so deep you know them not. Thoughts of the man you killed. The guilt you try to pretend is not there. Puros Lightfinder, a truly decent man. And the closest thing you have ever had to a friend, Nex-thanarak. Though he despised you."

He looked away. "I have nothing to feel guilty for. The man would have killed himself far sooner if not for me. And in the end he did kill himself, trying to kill me when it was my power that held him aloft."

"You tore away all he had to live for. You twisted him, whether you knew it or not, until even his faith in the Light was shattered." M'uru's images became more forceful, displaying nothing of mercy or compassion. "You destroyed him, as you would destroy me."

"Take the image away," Nex said. His eyes flickered to the wall of refracted light, and flinched away again when he saw the paladin's condemning stare still piercing him. "TAKE IT AWAY!"

Instead the images filled his mind, relentless. "At the behest of your master you have visited suffering upon the innocent. Your determination to bring vengeance only upon the deserving stripped away as you are turned against one innocent target after another. So as you twist others you in turn are twisted. As you destroy others so you in turn destroy yourself."

Nex stretched out his remaining good hand and the ball of Aggonar's tainted essence hissed out, shattering the image of Lightfinder before him, lunging towards M'uru. The soft subdued chime of the rebuilding spell matrix shivered into a high-pitched wail, and in spite of itself the naaru began backing away. Too slow.

Just before it hit Nex snarled and flung his hand aside, sending the horrific spell blazing away to slam into a wall. Such was the power of its corrupting influence that the stone and metal it splashed across began to decay and hiss, flaking away in sheets of viscous black.

Nex saw none of it, for he'd fallen to his knees, head hung low. Since his birth he'd longed to die, but never more than this moment. He couldn't tell whether his mercy to the naaru was a success or a failure on his part, and if anything that only churned his emotions down further conflicting paths. For what seemed an eternity he knelt there, waiting to be held fast in bonds he could not break. Waiting for an eternity of confinement.

But nothing came. And finally he was forced to lift his gaze.

The flickering being was quiescent, showing no hint of any sort of activity, magical or otherwise. It looked as if most of its attention was upon its shattered sentient spell matrix, struggling to preserve itself. From what Nex could see the naaru needn't have worried: he'd thrown his strength at the creature, the god, and it had proven insufficient. Laughably so, for all he'd managed to wound it. Now he was helpless before M'uru, and all that remained was for the creature to reach out and take hold of him.

He waited, but nothing happened. Why wasn't the creature capturing him? Naaru had an implacable opposition to all things demonic, and in his full use of the Illidari stone and the beginnings of the transformation it had stirred in him, then his willingness to use even demonic blood to corrupt it, he'd condemned himself. He deserved the punishment it offered. Deserved it more than he'd ever deserved any suffering in his life. And in all he'd done he'd come to look and just like the thing M'uru despised.

M'uru shimmered, a few of the rotating satellites of its spell matrix reappearing and continuing their slow spin. Within Nex's mind the communication blossomed anew, not so much words as sensations, feelings, and images that he was obliged to make sense of. That was not always possible. "Not simply in appearance, mortal," he heard, and in his mind was the image of a puppy, twisted within but not wholly irredeemable, abused and tormented until it backed into a corner and snapped at anything which approached, snarling to hide the confusion and hurt of a thing twisted by its nature and upbringing to despise everything.

It was a felhound pup, but overlaying the image was a squalling pink thing, poked and tormented by cackling demonic creatures, diminutive by most standards but to that tiny thing large as giants.

Nex shuddered and fought to close his mind against the mental intrusion. "I'm not a demon," he snarled, backing away from the terrible glowing figure. "I live only to destroy them all, and prevent any from enduring what I have endured. Condemn me for my crimes if you will, but don't compare me to them. I'M NOT LIKE THEM!"

Again the response came as images, overpowering his defenses with ease. He saw felguards, free of any higher power or purpose to direct them, turning upon one another out of pure hatred, not only for those like them but for themselves as well. He saw a starved, wasted figure, rushing through a horrible wasteland searching for the object of its hatred, slaying the thing and spitting on its corpse, then burning it to ash. He saw that same figure overawed by a demonic presence, beaten down and turned to that terrible will, until it turned and lashed out at its own, slaying any that opposed it with the same mindless hatred it had turned towards demons.

It was him, but the creature he saw didn't look human.

Nex backed away further, barely noticing the wall at his back even as he pressed against it. That wasn't him. That wasn't his master. He lived to fight demons, that was the only thing that kept him from letting the magic bleed from him and letting his wasted body collapse lifeless to the ground. His hatred for them was all that defined his tortured life, all that gave it meaning.

M'uru gave a brief, sharp chime, and Nex flinched. "Then why have you fought no demons in the service of your master?" that unrelenting being of Light pressed. It was not put in such direct concepts, however, but was more an accusation of omission. He saw his service to Stormrage, the slaying of humans, of others. But never did he see himself directly opposing the Burning Legion at Stormrage's behest. The mental images were not accompanied by any condemnation, nor hatred, nor anger. Not even pity or disdain. There was no emotion whatsoever, only cold logic.

"I fought against the undead," Nex protested, thought he protest rang hollow in his ears.

"Incidental. Your master demanded no such thing of you."

Nex shook his head again. Tears were leaking from his eyes, though he hardly noticed them. He felt as if he had died and, as the religion he had always scorned preached, was now standing before the Light to be judged. "I cannot change what I am," he said bitterly. "I am shaped as any demon, out of corruption and torment. All I had hoped was that I could turn that vile nature against the deserving, and leave the innocent in peace."

"In that you have failed." The words struck him like a blow, but he could not argue them. He fell to his knees, waiting. The death he had longed for since the beginning, always warring with his will to live and losing, was now before him. He had simply to wait for it to happen. If not from M'uru then from the draenei who served it, or at least from the treacherous blood elves he fought alongside.

But no death was forthcoming.

Finally he looked up. "What do you want of me?" The naaru didn't answer. Sudden rage filled him. "You can judge me and condemn me, perhaps the only being in the universe capable of such a thing, but you will not destroy me? Not even for mercy?"

"You yourself said it, human. The naaru do not kill, so you perceive us as weak. We will not even directly stand to oppose the Burning Legion, though it threatens all. We can only strengthen the races which oppose the enemy of all, and comfort them in their losses."

Nex stood with a bitter laugh. "Very well, then. There are demons on Outland, and far more numerous than to be found on Azeroth. If I cannot hope from death from you even if I deserve it, I will find it battling creatures who show no such hesitation."

M'uru chimed again, louder this time. The noise reverberated through the strange chamber, building until he thought his head must burst from the vibrations. "You call me judge, mortal, then hear me pass sentence. Return to your master, immediately and by the swiftest path available to you. Learn for yourself just what it is you've been serving."

"I know what my master-"

"GO!" The mental command slammed into his mind harder than any blow, and the chimes began anew, a harsh stream of sounds that filled the chamber with a deafening, discordant clangor. Nex turned and fled, cowering from the noise as if from physical blows.

. . . . .

After the human left, the chamber fell silent. M'uru felt the creature's presence depart, broken and twisted inside, perhaps irredeemable. But still capable of filling a purpose.

M'uru continued to repair itself. It felt nothing, of course, and the encounter had gone as it had seen it must. The mortal had thrown his strength against it, to more effect than anticipated but not nearly sufficient to destroy it. The presence of pit lord corruption had been unexpected, nowhere to be seen in Prophet Velen's visions. In that, M'uru had felt the first pangs of what must approximate terror in mortals, in the thought that the human would wield powers beyond his control, his understanding, and so ruin everything.

But thankfully such had not happened. And in the end, as it had supposed, the encounter came down to a battle of words. It could not be certain how that encounter had gone, but it looked to the future with anticipation of a high probability of a good outcome.

Then it let consideration of the mortal drop from its thoughts. Tempest Keep remained under fierce attack, but the attack was ending and not for the benefit of the draenei. It was a waste, but unavoidable. At least the noncombatant draenei had fled on the Exodar wing, and would perhaps find some safe haven.

It turned its mind to the broader scale of the Legion War. As with so many other offshoots of the conflict, the result was either utter defeat or the escape of part of the forces to rebuild and continue the resistance. Logic dictated that as things stood there could be no true victory against the Burning Legion, merely a gradual defeat. They had yet to find a force that could reckon with the unstoppable fury of a thousand worlds turned to corruption.

M'uru felt no emotion at this. If it was inevitable that the Legion's spread could not be curtailed then to mourn it was illogical. Even the Legion represented nothing more than an active embodiment of the entropy that must eventually wear all things down to a chaotic state, from which nothing could ever again be built. The naaru turned their efforts against both the Legion and entropy, struggling to build, to create, to learn, but even they knew that their efforts were futile, and could only represent a fleeting lift from the chaos, like an island rising from a burning sea to shine for a brief time, only to fall once more in the end.

There were other places where events played out differently, and that was cause for satisfaction. But here all that remained to do was to slow the inevitable for as long as they could, by any means necessary. Velen had showed M'uru what it must do to slow the inevitable on the world called Azeroth. By its own free will if possible, but after the way the human had weakened it the chance of it prevailing to continue in autonomy had dropped to below 9%.

And now the full extent of the draenei's prophecy was coming to pass, for it became aware of familiar beings encroaching upon its sanctum.

Shadows flickered across its doorway, and then shapes unlike the familiar draenei began slipping into the room. They were similar to the human M'uru had encountered earlier, but different as well. They came forward, thirty-three of them in all. Once high elves, now sworn to vengeance and dabbling in blood magic and worse. Blood elves. In their posture there was a sort of tense anticipation, as of those who are about to have a need met. In many animals this same emotion manifested itself in the frisking before a mating was to take place, but there was nothing so beautiful or creative in these creatures.

In their eyes shown the hunger, the same parasitic lust seen in so many demons, to take more than they required not from need but from addiction.

"By Anasterian's scepter," one whispered. "The _power_ of the thing!"

"We'll feast from it," another said exultantly. "_All_ of us will, for days and days."

"Hold!" a voice near the back exclaimed. The most aged of the group moved forward. "Why slaughter the cow, when it provides endless milk? Kael'thas will want this creature intact so its power can be siphoned from it endlessly."

The first to have spoken turned. "But it tempts me so," he protested. "Can we not first slake our thirst, at the least?"

The eldest smiled, and in his eyes shown the same hunger. "Of course. We have to subdue it, after all."

M'uru contemplated the enemies before it, calculating the power necessary to subdue them. Before its encounter with the demonic human it would have been able to, but now it feared it would be overcome and taken into captivity, a captivity which perhaps it would never be free from.

So, it would be in hopeless captivity that it redeemed these fallen creatures, as had been prophesied. It did not feel sorrow as it contemplated this fate. What was, was. But as the ant-like figures swarmed around it, siphoning away its power and turning that power back upon it, it fought to subdue, to triumph. To slow the inevitable for as long as possible, by any means necessary, even in the face of certain defeat.

That is what the naaru did.


	23. Interlude: Endless Flight

Chapter Twenty-Two

Interlude: Endless Flight

Saire had to hand it to Lokiv: his ability to control her blood elf kin might be woefully inadequate, but when it came to keeping a firm fist on his vicious red orcs he seemed to have them well in hand. The drake which had brought them to Arcatraz was still exactly as she'd left it, the orc waiting patiently for their return.

Or her return. She'd set the others to herding the now-docile draenei into any empty cells the Arcatraz possessed. True to their word the blue goat-creatures had disarmed and stood down, but she still wasn't willing to leave them unattended. Gava'sikh remained sealed in the control room, so even in the event of a full-scale revolt Arcatraz would remain under their control. She only hoped the ethereal didn't take her absence as an opportunity to go poking around the place for potential profits: who knew what horrors Gava'sikh might unleash?

She hopped up behind the red orc, ignoring the frustrated rage in its eyes at being unable to join the slaughter. "Tempest Keep," she said, pointing since he wouldn't understand anyway. The brute grunted and flicked his foul whip out, and the drake gave a pained bawl and surged into the air. Moments later she was pointing to the main platform of the keep, where half a dozen other drakes waited.

She was relieved to see Ilinar waiting beside the drakes. It had been a bit of a dilemma about what to do with the boy. He was under her protection, but the others seemed oddly lacking in remorse for driving him away and leaving him to die. She feared leaving him with the forces on the ground, composed primarily of the very scouts who'd driven him away in the first place, would be a disaster. Luckily Lokiv had proposed the simple solution of leaving the boy in the care of his red orcs. Absurdly, she had been sure Ilinar would be safer with those vicious brutes than with his own kin.

"Are you okay, Ilinar?" she asked.

The boy turned his attention from the drake he'd been poking and glanced at her. His eyes were different than they had been, although it was hard to remember. Bluer, she thought, but also colder. She could almost sense a hidden power within him that hadn't been there before, at least not to her perceptions, but she lacked the courage to probe it and seek out its nature.

"I'm okay," he said, his voice remote. He walked over and put his arms around her, pressing his face into her arm, and this childlike gesture eased some of her worries.

Saire patted his head, but after only a moment she caught sight of a drake winging its way towards them from the hovering bulk of the Botanica. She lightly pried the boy loose. "Stay here," she admonished. Then she strode forward to meet the drake.

Botanica was in roughly the same position it had been in throughout the attack, although the Mechanar had drifted as much as three miles away, and was now almost hovering over the continent. She wondered how the battle fared there, and whether they would need to send more troops to the aid of the party they'd sent.

On the drake approaching from the Arcatraz only Velansar and his orc chauffeur were returning.

Saire hurried forward as the drake landed and Velansar dismounted, landing lightly for all the weight of his armor. "Where are the others?"

Velansar tore his eyes from the keep to glance at her impatiently. "Others?"

"The ones sent with you to take the Botanica."

His patrician features twisted with annoyance. "Dead."

She backed away a step, as shocked by his callous tone as by the words themselves. "Then the Botanica is lost to us?"

The Spell Breaker captain looked surprised. "What? Of course not. Hav'naki holds the control room and controls all its systems."

For a moment all she could do was stare at him in shock. "You took the place by yourself?" she whispered. "Soloed it?"

"Does that surprise you? It was nothing but a bunch of pathetic women with watering buckets, and a few technicians whose only experience with fighting was the few seconds of horror before my warglaive found them."

Unbelievable. She had known Velansar was skilled, and certainly dangerous, but she hadn't supposed . . . "Will there be a need to send further teams in to consolidate the structure?"

"Probably. I couldn't very well let senseless slaughter get in the way of securing the control room. Enjoyable as it was." The Spell Breaker's eyes returned to the keep. "Now, if you'll excuse me I feel a source of great power within, and our brethren already feed." He started to turn away then abruptly paused, eyes fixed upon her left shoulder. She shifted to see he was staring at the fused-diamond hilt of the sword she'd taken from the Arcatraz. "What is that?"

"Plunder," she said.

His eyes held a tinge of awe, coupled with greed. "Have you any idea what you hold?"

"I know exactly what I hold."

He nodded vaguely, holding out a hand. "May I?"

She uncertainly tugged the sword off her shoulder and offered it to him by the strap. Velansar caught it and closed his hand on the hilt. "Incredible," he whispered. "It's even more potent than I'd thought. The scabbard serves to hide its power. Thank you." With that he turned away and started walking towards the keep.

"Hey wait!" Saire protested. "You can't take that I won it fair and square!"

He smirked as he drew the sword and inspected it closely, whistling in appreciation. "Regulation 132: Looting and Pillaging. The Quel'thalas army has first claim on all valuable items obtained during the storming of a fortress or the sacking of a town. You should have asked about the looting rules before you joined this raid."

"But you don't even need the sword!"

He re-sheathed the blade with a smooth motion and slung the scabbard over his shoulder. "Noisy little bastard, isn't it?" He looked up, apparently surprised she was still there. "Oh I daresay I might have a use for it if I ever go sword and board."

"So it's you who has first claim on it, not the Army."

He shrugged. "If you've got a complaint send a claim ticket to a GM."

"A what?"

"A Grand Marshal. Currently the only surviving Grand Marshal is Prince Kael'thas, so I would suggest you see if he'll intercede on your behalf. He'll probably offer some polite reply stating he's aware of the issue but unfortunately cannot do anything about it. If you're lucky he might say that he's taking measures but for the sake of individual privacy can't tell you what those measures are. But if you feel so strongly about it you could always take your complaint to the forums."

Saire blinked. "What?"

"The Silvermoon Council of Nobles' public forums. What the hell did you think I was talking about?"

"Silvermoon's a burning ruin and the council hasn't convened in months! Besides, nothing ever happens on those forums but pointless bickering."

"Not my problem." Velansar turned away again. Clearly the matter was done with.

"I'm going to make sure everyone knows what you did!" She called after him. Then, with a growl of annoyance, she hurried in his wake. Lokiv would be in there, and he'd tear Velansar a new one for stealing from her. Besides, it was his damn sword anyway.

At the entrance they were intercepted by Noiver Lothiel and a group of former Corona's Blaze guardsmen, obviously assigned the task of holding the entrance. Noiver saluted as Velansar approached. "Status?" Velansar demanded.

"Last report was that Eldre'Theril and his forces had breached the inner sanctum."

Velansar cursed and was about to pass through when Saire caught his arm. "Noiver, where is Hiezal?"

The guard hesitated, eyes turning towards Velansar. Instead of answering he waited for his commander to do so instead. That simple act made Saire's spine crawl with fear.

Velansar scowled down at her hand, but surprisingly didn't shake it off. "Nova volunteered for a special mission in the Exodar. I'm sorry to say that when it came time for our rendezvous to pick him up he was nowhere to be found."

"What mission?" she demanded, feeling her stomach clench with a dozen emotions, primarily anguish, disbelief, and fear. But she only let anger out. "He didn't tell me anything about it."

"I'm sorry," the commander said, although he certainly didn't sound it. "Nova took upon himself the task of escorting an ethereal to Exodar's engine room, there to sabotage the dimensional drives."

Saire stared at the Commander of the Spell Breakers. "Sabotage the dimensional drives? But I saw the Exodar depart using just those drives."

Velansar smiled coldly. "The sabotage was not against the drives themselves, but against the control mechanisms. What use is it to strand the blueskins here, close enough that they can conceivably rejoin the battle?"

Her confusion was giving way to mounting horror. "Without those controls as soon as they activated the dimension drive they would have been shot in a random direction at random speeds. Even if such a thing didn't destroy the Exodar outright, you've condemned them to slow death hurtling aimlessly through the Twisting Nether. And if you failed to pick up Hiezal then he'll suffer the same fate!"

The proud, chiseled features of the brawny Spell Breaker didn't shift. "So?"

Saire took a step back. "There were innocents on that vessel! The sickly and infirm, elderly and even children. Children, Velansar! A man under your command! You've murdered them all!"

"What would you have us do, Mage? Follow the mudman's plan and send them fleeing with hundreds of Draenei warriors and spellcasters on board? How long do you think it would be before they returned in the night to retake what was stolen from them? Lord Illidan himself sent orders through Prince Kael'thas to not only take Tempest Keep, but ensure that no enemy remained to retake it. Now, thanks to the sacrifice of your man Nova, those orders have been carried out."

The words assailed her relentlessly as she saw in her mind the huddle of tiny, huge-eyed draenei children within the Arcatraz staring at her in silent terror. "Those might have been the last living draenei in existence," she whispered. "Knowing the plight of our own people, how could you do such a thing?"

"How could I not? Do you think they would willingly cede either Tempest Keep or Outland itself to us? Do you think if it came down to it, it wouldn't have ended a battle to extinction between our races? I cannot afford to take such a chance. None of us can. As you said, the fate of our very race hangs in the balance."

A tear slipped down her cheek, scalding hot but cooling with surprising speed. She didn't know when she'd lost control of her emotions so much that the tears came unbidden, but the thought of all those innocents doomed to be castaways in the Nether, and by the hands of an elf she had thought better of, was too much. "You're no better than the humans who would have destroyed us."

Velansar's cold face contorted for an instant into something ugly, and he moved blindingly quick. The next thing she knew she was on the ground, aching everywhere, with a loud ringing in her ears. Her entire jaw felt as if it had been shattered into a dozen pieces, and above her the Spell Breaker stood with his gauntleted fist upraised. "We can't afford to be weak, Mage," he said coldly. "Not in this land, and not in the service of Illidan Stormrage." He turned and strode away.

Saire wanted to send a spell after him. Oh, how she wanted to! But to do so after the terrible deed aboard Exodar had already been done would have been a useless gesture, and in any case she was so dazed from the blow that he was out of sight around the curve of the walkway before she could even muster the will to sit up, let alone try to speak through her aching mouth. She could taste blood, and trying to open it sent jolts of agony through her.

Lokiv. With some effort she managed to lurch to her feet. She had to go find him, tell him of this horrible scheme Velansar and Hiezal had cooked up between them; though it galled her to admit it, the human was one of the most skilled practitioners of magic she'd ever seen, and one of the most powerful as well. Perhaps it was hopeless, but maybe he had some means of divining the location of the lost Exodar and coming to their aid. He had to care, after having taken such pains to see the Draenei safely fled aboard the dimensional ship in the first place.

She stumbled through the main entrance of Tempest Keep in time to see the human burst through the archway, sprinting full-out for the edge of the floating structure without even a glance to one side or the other. For a moment she stood, staring. Then she rushed forward. "Lokiv!" she screamed after him. The word petered feebly from her broken jaw, coming out as more of a grunt, and it was obvious the human hadn't heard her. She slowed, staring in mounting horror as he neared the edge without showing the slightest hint of slowing. This all felt like worse than a dream, but far too real to be a nightmare.

In all this madness, had the human finally given in to his oft-expressed desire to end his life, and intended to do so by falling forever through the Twisting Nether? Or did he hope the grinding maw of half-molten stones would steal it from him more quickly?

Lokiv reached the edge of Tempest Keep's front platform and leapt mightily, seeming to rise higher and higher in defiance of gravity. At the apex of his jump a blur flashed past his location, and he reached out smoothly to grasp at the neck of the passing netherdrake. Without apparent effort he swung himself around and onto the beast's back, riding the drake she recognized as his own, the fierce huge thing he had called Brightpoint, with an expertise he surely couldn't have gained in just the few days he'd had the drake. Although he must have somehow mentally called Brightpoint to be ready to pick him up as he leapt.

Rather than turning west, back towards the continent thrust into the netherstorm, he turned north to follow the ledge of the continent. Saire had no idea where he was going, but he was urging the netherdrake to its greatest speed away from Tempest Keep and the battle, abandoning it entirely.

For a moment she stood, torn. She could feel her companions within the keep battling the naaru. If she was any judge they were winning, and drinking deeply of the energy the creature of Light was composed of. It was an incredible temptation to join them in feasting on that divine source of mana. But the thought of facing Velansar again, or even worse seeing any of her people reveling in bloodlust and wallowing in their addiction to mana, made the prospect unbearable.

Instead she ran towards where her own netherdrake waited. She indicated to the orc that he was to dismount and give her his whip, but when he balked she drew on her power and snarled at him. For a moment he hesitated, staring off after Lokiv's retreating drake, then he shrugged and dismounted. He tossed her the whip with a snarl of disgust, then made his way over to where the other beasts and their handlers waited. Struggling with the awkward whip she leapt up onto the jury-rigged harness, strapping herself in just above the wings and pushing her will through the psychic whip firmly to goad the beast into pursuit of Lokiv and his mount.

. . . . .

He'd never before realized how hot this world was.

Certainly he hadn't noticed it before his death. But then he hadn't noticed a lot of things back then. Or perhaps after the pleasing cold and dark of death anything else, any light or warmth, seemed uncomfortable by comparison. Ilinar didn't know for sure, and really he didn't care. Since his death he'd found other things to occupy his attention.

Besides, he could make it colder if he wanted.

At the moment his attention was occupied by the two drakes winging away from this floating fortress. His master, Lokiv, and his friend Saire. His two protectors. He watched them go with a sense of anger and dismay, hurt though he tried to pretend he didn't care. Somewhere deep in his heart he hadn't forgotten the first time they'd abandoned him, the horrifying agony of dying of thirst. That Lokiv had saved his life and that Saire had then been there for him made it better. A little. Still, he was angry with them now, sure they wouldn't come back.

He wished they'd come back.

As if that feeble wish was a summons a voice spoke behind him, ugly with contempt. "Your lady just jumped on a drake and flew off without you, boy."

Ilinar whirled, feelings of betrayal and hurt forgotten, to see Yardai standing close by, leering at him. "Going to run me off again?" he said mockingly, trying to hide his fear. "Not going to be so easy on a floating fortress Prince Kael'thas wants. Maybe I'll run off and find a place to hide."

"Maybe you'll find an arrow in your back if you try it," Yardai replied, patting the bow slung over his shoulder. "No, boy. History's going to repeat itself. Once everything settles down we'll fly down to the continent together, and you can run off and die like a good little halfbreed. The way you should have done last time."

Ilinar quirked his lips up into something that might resemble a smile. Since he'd awakened in Saire's arms a few days ago things had been different. The arcane power he'd been able to summon previously had changed, begun to feel odd. It had also come more readily to his call.

He called upon it now, drawing it into himself. His attempts were still clumsy, but it felt glorious compared to the piddling amounts he'd toyed with under Saire's tutelage.

Yardai's eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward. "What's wrong with your eyes, boy?"

Ilinar shrugged one shoulder, like he'd seen Lokiv do. "I don't know. But you should be more worried about what's wrong with my hand." While he'd been speaking he'd been funneling that power into his index finger. It manifested as a deep, dark cold. The cold of the emptiness within the Great Dark Beyond. The cold of the very north of norths. The cold of the grave. He stretched his finger out and touched the scout on the wrist, and all that cold flowed out of him.

Yardai gave a cry of pain and staggered backwards, his actions slowed as if he was underwater, or the cold was making his muscles stiff. It didn't take him long to regain his balance, eyes narrowed in dark anger, and he drew one of those heavy-bladed kukri knives from his belt. "I see," he said, his words thick as if his tongue was numbed from opit, "you want to make this personal between us."

Ilinar clutched the heavy throwing knife Lokiv had given him, ready to defend himself, but before he could a shadow appeared over his shoulder, and the next he knew Yardai flew sprawling with Hardal standing over him.

The scout captain was breathing heavily, though he didn't look winded. It took Ilinar a moment to realize the man was angry. "The hell do you think you're doing, scout?" he demanded.

Yardai glared up at him. "The boy's protectors are gone again. The human and his whore. I'm just sending the little bastard packing like I did last time."

Hardal smiled, but it was a mean smile. "I consider it my own lapse in discipline that you weren't properly punished for running the boy out of camp like a dog last time around," he drawled mildly. "And I can't very well discipline you now for something I didn't even chastise you for previously. Well, fool, consider yourself warned."

Yardai glared up at the lean ranger. "But sir, the little shit isn't even-"

Hardal interrupted the scout by casually leaning down and backhanding him across the face. "I again must take the blame, for failing to realize just how abysmally slow on the uptake you are, scout. Since you can't seem to read between the lines I'm going to spell it out so not even you can misunderstand. As of this moment the boy is under my protection. If any harm comes to him, by your hand or anyone else's, I will personally throw you into the Maw. You'll have hours, maybe even days, of endless falling to regret disobeying my orders before death takes you." His voice hardened. "In case that was too long and you didn't listen, here's it even simpler: if the boy comes to harm, for any reason, you die. No exceptions. Now get out of my sight."

Yardai snarled and scrabbled backwards like a crab, glaring at Ilinar over Hardal's shoulder. Then he ducked around a drake and didn't reappear. Probably hiding.

Hardal turned and looked Ilinar over. "Going in for frost magics now, boy? Didn't know Lady Firedge knew to teach those." When Ilinar didn't answer, glaring at the scout captain warily, Hardal shrugged and offered a hand. "Come on, I need to get down to the mainland and see how the attack's going there. You can come with me."

For a moment Ilinar hesitated. Then he shrugged and awkwardly took the older elf's hand.

. . . . .

Nex reached the mainland to see that the draenei refugee camp at the edge of the continent was empty, none of his forces in sight. It didn't take much to see the trail of bodies leading away along the edge to the north, most raggedly dressed draenei looking as if they'd been cut down from behind.

He hissed in irritation. The mainland attack by his handful of archers was supposed to be a diversion. He'd ordered Dor'ane to see it broken off after Tempest Keep broke away and fled farther from the continent, but it seemed the blood elves had been too consumed with bloodlust to let a few score ragged refugees safely flee, let alone remain unmolested in their camp.

_After them_, he told Brightpoint, and the nether drake banked and swiftly winged over the trail of bodies. The maneuver was so sudden that Nex almost pitched off the side and fell, only able to hold on with one hand. But somehow he righted himself, and with the incredible speed the drake managed they crossed the few miles the refugees had been able to flee.

The draenei were in a tight bunch, the few remaining warriors forming a rearguard as the nimble elven archers harried them from behind and from the left. Nex could see, however, that unencumbered by refugees a good half of the blood elf forces had circled ahead and were waiting in ambush.

Ignoring the pounding in his head he drew shadows, bolstering his depleted reserves, then dropped off the drake. _Wing ahead and drive off the ambushers. Ensure the draenei make it to safety._

**Drive them off?** Brightpoint asked hopefully.

_Without injuring them, if possible. If they loose arrows at you you're free to respond as you see fit. _Nex activated levitation, about all he was able to do in his state, and dropped lightly half a dozen yards from the cluster of elves harrying the rearguard. Or he thought he'd dropped lightly; again his left leg buckled, reminding him that he must have injured it sometime during the attack.

For a moment he nearly fell flat on his face, an odd numb sensation spreading from his hip. The elves were staring at him in bemused silence, and he cursed his failure to provide a dramatic entrance. "Break off the attack!" he called.

One of the elves staring at him scowled. "We answer to Redcrest."

Nex straightened, trying not to wince. "Need I remind you how I responded to the last elves who refused to break away when ordered?" A bluff, since in his condition he barely had the strength to keep upright, let alone fight off a bunch of archers. He could only hope his past accomplishments were enough to keep them cowering.

The elves glanced at each other warily. Then the one who'd spoken whistled sharply, and Nex watched as the flanking elves withdrew, leaving the draenei to stagger to safety. The officer of the archers approached him, looking displeased. Nex thought he recognized the man as one of Dor'ane's scouts, though he couldn't remember his name. That realization sparked a surge of anger in him; not only completely unable to keep control of these people, but he couldn't even remember their names?

"A large portion of our forces waits ahead in ambush, human. Would you leave them helpless to the draenei?"

"They are being dealt with." As Nex spoke a piercing draconic shriek tore the air, followed by high-pitched yells of terror, and he watched eight or so elves break away from the cover of a narrow cleft ahead and flee inland, Brightpoint swooping and snapping over them in delight.

. . . . .

Saire wheeled her drake down to land as she saw Lokiv slip off his own. She was surprised to see him stagger as he landed, nearly collapsing on his left leg before he regained his balance. Odd, since though his landing had been by no means gentle he'd used levitation to descend, and he was usually in perfect control of himself. She didn't think she'd ever really seen him stumble before.

She watched as the drake winged ahead, apparently to roust out an ambush before her people could fall upon the helpless draenei fleeing the archers behind, even as Lokiv reined those elves in and set them to regrouping.

Had the human fled Tempest Keep so desperately only to come here and halt this lamentable massacre? Laudable if so, but how had he known? But no, he'd no sooner finished speaking to the blood elf there-Ganaes she thought his name was-when Hardal's officer pointed back the way they'd come, apparently to the blood elf camp. Lokiv's drake swooped around, as if to some unspoken command, and as it passed alongside mere inches from the ground Lokiv leapt atop it once more.

Saire hissed in annoyance and urged her own drake back into the air in pursuit. Lokiv's larger drake obviously flew under its own control, for it was far faster and more graceful in the air; combined with her own mount's ungainly attempt to take off again in the midst of landing she was soon far behind in pursuit of the human.

_He has to help me. If not for Hiezal's sake then for the draenei of the Exodar. He has to._

. . . . .

Nex was relieved to hear that Veilan had been brought along when they'd all taken to the sky on nether drakes. It irked him that he hadn't even thought of the draenei's plight, and he'd been afraid that the callous blood elves would simply slit the poor creature's throat when they left.

But apparently someone had thought the draenei would be a useful source of information, so there he was in the camp next to one large tent, chained and hobbled.

Both precautions seemed totally unnecessary, since Veilan was currently sprawled weakly within them. He looked emaciated, almost to the point of starvation, his lips dry and cracked, a few unnoticed lines of blood trickling from the deep sores, while his skin was deathly pale.

Veilan's condition struck him like a blow. It was obvious the elves had given no thought to caring for him other than the bare minimum to keep him alive, and likely from expediency and not any sort of mercy.

Nex had imprisoned this poor draenei, had interrogated and mentally tortured him. Then he'd simply forgot all about him. This poor creature, old and weary and full of sorrow, who did not deserve any of the pain Nex had caused him.

The draenei did not seem overly inclined to notice him. Perhaps wasn't even in any condition to do so, given his fevered state, but Nex remained still, watching him. Though his demon skin blunted the pain and he had not been engaged in any particularly strenuous activities his breath came out in hissing pants.

What did he want from this sad, broken creature? Why had it even been in his mind to seek him out? The naaru's command to go to his master with all haste had the force of compulsion upon him, whether because of his own ragged psyche or by some power. And yet here he was, standing over Veilan and wondering why he was here. What he was hoping for.

"I did not expect to see you on this day, human," the sickly draenei whispered without opening his eyes, barely able to be heard. "Have you come to gloat? To torment me some more? To tear a few more secrets from my mind in terrible pain?"

Nex stepped forward, reaching for the creature's shackles. "I've come to give you your freedom."

Veilan made a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. His eyes finally opened, and they were a dull haze of pain. "You nearly come too late if that is your intent, human. My death has stalked me for many years now, growing ever stronger as I grew weaker. But it is only now, as I watch my people's last stronghold fall, that I am finally ready to succumb. It will offer me the freedom I desire."

Nex pressed into the draenei with his second sight, then hissed. "I had not realized the corruption spread so deep. You must have a will of iron. Had I known-"

The draenei made that noise again. "Why would you have known? Your focus seems more upon destruction than healing, human."

Nex flinched again. Painful words to hear, all the more so for being true. "Allow me to at least see your last moments free of shackles."

"As you wish." Veilan leaned back, drooping eyes straining towards where Tempest Keep and its satellites hung, still embattled. "You did not come to free me, human."

This statement surprised him, for at the start of this conversation he'd supposed that was his only motive. But now he sensed another reason. Another need. Shameful in its selfishness. After a short pause Nex nodded and looked away. "Not only to free you, draenei. When first we met you said you did not fear the dark. That it was not an evil place."

"As it is not. It is a safe place to hide for small, frightened creatures."

That wasn't what he wanted to hear. "The evil creatures I know of live in darkness." _As I did for so long._

Veilan hissed in a breath, whether more laughter or sudden pain he did not know. "Many would try to tell you that darkness is by nature in opposition to light. Perhaps even to _the _Light. But it is not so. Dark is merely the absence of light, it is not intrinsically evil. Evil creatures may hide from the Light within it, but if anything that only speaks to its nature as a refuge which welcomes all."

Nex finished loosing the shackles, then straightened and searched within the nearby tent until he found a jug. Not water, to his surprise, but some sort of nectar, perhaps pillaged from the draenei camp. The workmanship of the pottery was alien in design, at least. He handed it down to Veilan. "I did my best for your people. I saw to it the Exodar made it away with the bulk of the noncombatants."

Veilan took a deep pull of the nectar, but at his words the draenei choked, spluttering. Nex wasn't sure if he'd begun by laughing and ended by coughing, or vise versa. "The Light save us all from the mercy of people like you," he wheezed. Clutching the jug tightly, the draenei scrabbled with his legs until he'd levered himself into a sitting position against one of the tent poles. "You'll get no absolution for a guilty conscience here, human."

Small surprise, those words, and he should not have expected any others. Yet still they left him with a sense of loss. What _had _he hoped for from the draenei? Certainly it must have been a vain hope.

"Very well." Nex turned away. _Brightpoint, to me._

**Where to now?**

_A long flight through the Twisting Nether between three continents. One that will take you close to your home._

**Am I going home?**

Nex raised his arm, and the drake's massive claw closed around it then snapped up, whipping him into the air. As he fell the drake moved smoothly beneath him, and Nex caught on around the creature's neck and settled into his usual place. _Yes, my friend, _he finally said. _Take me to my destination and you may go where you please. Perhaps at least you will come away from having known me without finding a bitter end._

Behind him he heard a yell, and he turned to see Saire closing on him riding a slightly smaller drake. She was waving as if to call him back. Case in point.

**They're following us.**

_Let them. They'll turn away when they see where we're going._

. . . . .

Saire jerked awake when the drake beneath her gave an exhausted bawl, and her head snapped up to peer ahead, searching desperately for any sign of the human and his larger, stronger drake.

No sign. Only nether all around, and an endless drop below. Her drake's wingbeats were coming slower, more ragged, and she could feel the thing trembling with every effort to keep it aloft.

She'd decided to call thing Dumby. Unfair, perhaps, given its sad treatment at the hands of the red orcs. But she could hardly care about that, after horrible days of riding the pathetic creature and watching Lokiv draw farther and farther away.

She strained her eyes ahead again, cursing herself for a fool. Even in its witless state the drake had tried to warn her of its limits. She'd first caught up to Lokiv at the edge of the Netherstorm continent, where the human had been resting his drake in preparation to fly directly south, into the Twisting Nether, to approach Hellfire Peninsula directly rather than circling around the long way. She'd barely gotten close before Lokiv had leapt back atop Brightpoint and both had plunged into the Nether.

She'd been far enough behind that Lokiv had likely had over an hour, possibly two, to rest Brightpoint. But in her haste to catch up she'd simply directed Dumby after them. She had no idea what the limits of a nether drake were, but even so in hindsight that had been an excessively stupid idea. Lokiv's beast was bigger and stronger, and even so he'd given the creature a chance to rest before making this flight.

Dumby had balked as she set out into the nether, bawling in distress, and she'd foolishly used the psychic whip to goad it onward after the retreating figures of Nex and his drake.

So now here she was, ten hours into an endless flight in the middle of horrifying chaos on the back of an exhausted drake, with only a long, long drop to the Maw below waiting to greet her at the journey's end. They would have already fallen to their deaths but for some property of the Nether which had served to somewhat sustain the drake. Or perhaps it was simply that without the continent pulling them down both their weights had halved, making less of a burden for Dumby to carry.

She strained her eyes forward again, and finally caught sight of a dim, red mass in the far distance. She almost wept in relief. "We're just about there, Dumby," she whispered. The drake responded with another plaintive bawl, at which point it faltered in the middle of a wingbeat and they dropped nearly ten feet.

Saire screamed the entire time, until finally the drake managed to call up a surge of adrenaline and stabilize their flight once more.

She was going to die. Gods damn, she was going to die, and it was all Lokiv's fault. He had glanced back at her several times when she'd still been close enough to see him. She could tell he knew she was there. But he'd just blithely flown on, leaving her to her fate.

Saire checked her reserves and was pleased to find them full. There was one thing she could do, at the least; her skill at levitation was nowhere near the control Lokiv possessed, and in truth users of arcane magic would always be limited in that regard in comparison to priests or their dark counterparts. So what she could manage was more to the effect of slowing their fall rather than actual levitation. Still she prayed it would be enough.

She swiftly built a web of arcane energy about the both of them, manipulating the relatively simple spell matrix to be as efficient as possible. She tried to make the spell strong enough that it would slow their fall almost to the point of hovering, although that would drain her much faster.

Speaking of faster . . . _burst of speed_, she commanded Dumby, prodding it with the whip. The drake didn't even have the breath to bawl this time, it simply surged forward for three quick wingbeats, then again faltered. They started to plummet, then Saire activated the spell and their descent greatly slowed. Dumby's wings tucked in, the beast's lungs heaving beneath her so she felt she was riding a bellows.

Ahead, the upper lip of the continent fell away gradually as they glided forward on the wings of her spell. She could feel her reserves swiftly draining, far faster than the continent approached, but she hoped, greatly hoped, it would be enough to give the drake some rest, so that when her reserves ran dry it could take them the rest of the way to the continent. She doubted it would have the strength to fly up the cliff and atop Hellfire Peninsula, but perhaps it could find a perch and rest.

The alternative was somewhat less appealing.

. . . . .

_Just a little farther._

Brightpoint made no response, conserving even his mental energy to his flight. Nex had to admit he was impressed by the drake's fortitude: three days of flying, nearing the end of the fourth, and the shadow drake had stopped to rest only three times. Nex would have insisted on more, but Brightpoint seemed unusually eager to test his limits, and Nex had need of haste.

Shadowmoon Valley stretched out beneath them, a panorama of atrocity. Bare stone, twisted plants, tainted lava, and vile denizens. At the moment those vile denizens were naga; he had passed within sight of a few camps, but at the moment he'd circled east to avoid their couatls, taking him out past the edge of the continent once more to enjoy the pleasure of the endless drop to the Maw below. Luckily Brightpoint, even weary as he was, had easily outdistanced the flying serpents with their massive wingspan and slow, gliding flight. However, eluding the naga sentries might draw the attention of swifter enemies, especially now that they'd drawn so close to the Black Temple and Stormrage's seat of power.. Perhaps even drakes, if Stormrage had succeeded in suborning the Dragonmaws.

**What?**

Nex blinked, looking down at Brightpoint. _Nothing. Trawling my thoughts to keep yourself entertained?_

**Not really, no. Just a whisper of something. What are you thinking?**

_Nothing pressing. Turn your gaze to the skies, my friend, for we're drawing closer to our destination._

**I thought these people were your friends as well.**

_Cherish your naivete while you still possess it. And may you never learn the difference between friends and allies._

**What difference?**

Nex hesitated. _I'm a poor person to ask concerning friendship, never having enjoyed it myself. Ostensibly friendship is genuinely caring about the well-being of another. Allies simply work together out of convenience, and the alliance ends when the convenience does._

**Then I'm glad you're a friend and not an ally, Nothing. I wouldn't ever want to be betrayed by you.**

_I wouldn't ever want to be betrayed by anyone. Unfortunately you'll find that the world is-_

Brightpoint broke into a dive, banking sharply, as if he'd just encountered an invisible wall he was trying desperately to avoid. Nex, with his one and a half hands, struggled desperately to stay atop the wildly maneuvering drake. But in spite of Brightpoint's obvious dismay, even terror, the drake had gone deadly silent, even going so far as to draw his mind deep into itself. The drake was hiding, as if from a perilous predator.

Frowning, Nex walled off his own thoughts, grateful at the least that he didn't have to continue this awkward conversation with his trusting companion. Then he opened wide his second sight and focused.

He sensed it immediately.

In truth, he should have sensed it long before now. Probably would have, had he not dismissed it as simply an extension of the taint upon the land below them. It was a presence heavy as a lead blanket over any who felt it. In fact those who had no particular sensitivity to magic would probably be able to feel it as well, albeit from a much closer distance.

And any sane person would avoid such a close distance. Avoid it even if they had to throw themselves off the edge of the continent and fall endlessly. For what he felt was malignant like nothing he'd experienced before.

And it was vast.

Nex leaned close over Brightpoint's neck as the drake leveled out. "Do you hear me?" he whispered. After a tense moment the drake nodded, or at least jerked its head awkwardly as it focused on flying. "That presence is coming from the edge of the continent ahead, behind the Black Temple. I would see it with my own eyes. How far will you take me?"

The tiniest tendril of thought brushed him. **If we can see it from far away I'll take you. I don't want to go close.**

Nex smiled dourly. "Neither do I, my friend."

Brightpoint banked still lower, until they were flitting just feet above the broken range of cliffs, hills, and narrow deep ravines at the edge of Shadowmoon Valley. They flew in cautious silence for several minutes, and then Brightpoint dropped to the ground halfway up a steep rise and began creeping up, his four legs grasping for holds. Nex rested his hand on the drake's neck, stilling its forward motion, and silently slipped off the creature, dropping low to the ground and edging up the slope until just his eyes peered over.

The sight before him made his heart judder in his chest, and he hissed in a breath. Never before had he felt so terrified, but it was only the loudest of the chorus of emotions screaming within him.

There was no doubt in his mind. This was what M'uru had wished him to see.


	24. Interlude: Endless Flight Part Two

Chapter 23

Interlude: Endless Flight Part Two

The ledge of the continent stretched out in front of him. Bleak, dark stone jutting jaggedly out into the abyss. It made a shelf behind the bulk that was the Black Temple, nestled in its ring of hills. Atop the back wall of the temple was a shape, small at this distance, with widespread bat-like wings and twin horns twisting up from an ebony forehead. Stormrage. Atop this wall he faced a drop of over a hundred feet to the ledge below.

Yet the figure in front of him, standing upon the ledge below, was tall enough to treat with Stormrage face to face.

A giant, titanic in its proportions, though it was not heritage that had produced such immensity but constant feeding of dark powers. The shape seemed deeply familiar to Nex, for he had seen many of similar features just recently, although they were much smaller, and blue-skinned as opposed to this livid red. The high forehead plate, the long narrow tail, the ebony black hooves planted firmly on the rock of the shelf.

But he had known of these creatures before ever setting eye on a draenei. Had indeed inaccurately identified the draenei by this label. For the creature before him had existed before the draenei were draenei, had taken another path and followed it into darkness.

Eredar. A demon lord, but not some simple eredar warlock or commander. The creature before him had made an unholy pact with Sargeras the Dark Titan himself, and had risen through the ranks of the Burning Legion to become one of its top commanders. Nex shrank down in spite of himself, for the power of this creature was so immense that even Stormrage was diminished before it.

There were two such eredar who had gone over to Sargeras. Of those two Archimonde, previous leader of the Legion, must be dead, for he had walked openly into the trap at the World Tree set by Malfurion Stormrage, contemptuous in his power, and had been overwhelmed by nature itself, carried in the vengeful embrace of countless wisps, spirits of the night elf people.

Which left Kil'jaeden. Lesser demon summoners and minor players in the occult would know little of Archimonde's eredar companion. The two had worked together to subsume their people in the service of Sargeras. But those who did know of Kil'jeaden might be tempted to belief he was subordinate to Archimonde, who led the armies of the Legion. But in fact it was Kil'jaeden who led among the two, the right hand of Sargeras and ruler of the Legion after the Dark Titan's fall. While Archimonde had led the military campaigns Kil'jaeden had turned his energies towards enfolding new worlds and new creatures into the Burning Legion.

It was Kil'jaeden who had twisted the orc elder shaman, Ner'zhul, into the shape of the Lich King, hurling him onto Azeroth within a prison which would come to be shaped like a throne in the force of collision. It was Kil'jaeden who had orchestrated the linking of minds between Medivh and Ner'zhul, paving the way for the Orcish invasion on Azeroth. Every tragedy which had befallen his world, his people, even Nex himself, was a direct result of the manipulations of this being of unimaginable power.

And now here Kil'jaeden stood, manifesting upon Outland in avatar form, as Sargeras had upon Azeroth decades ago. Here stood the leader of the Burning Legion.

And his master kneeled to him.

What a fool he'd been.

It was a long-held fact that when one dealt with a demon, betrayal was inevitable. A wise demonologist prepared carefully, binding the demon with oaths and strictures to hold it in check, but eventually the enslaved, vile creature would find a loophole, or a scenario that was never addressed, and the demonologist would pay for his temerity.

So too it was with Stormrage. Three promises Stormrage had made to secure Nex's service, and three promises Stormrage had broken.

The first, that he would be taught, strengthened in his fight against the Burning Legion, until he could at last challenge the demon lords themselves. Aside from the piddling noose around his neck that was the Illidari stone that promise had remained unkept.

The second, that he would be fighting against agents of the Legion, specifically the Lich King and the Scourge he commanded. Instead he had been constantly been set to betraying and devastating creatures of all races, from humans to elves to night elves to draenei.

And finally, most important of all, that their enemy _would_ in fact be the Burning Legion. That he would never be called upon to serve the creatures he so despised. That he would be given the opportunity instead to fight those very creatures, unleash his strength and his hatred upon them to devastating effect.

But here his "master" knelt, before the interim supreme commander of the Burning Legion himself. Kil'jaeden the devourer of Light.

Betrayed, Stormrage had claimed. Called a betrayer by his people, but it was he himself who'd been betrayed. Imprisoned unjustly, hunted without cause, exiled without reason, hated without mercy. Nex had held no sympathy for the fallen night elf, and yet at the same time he'd been foolish enough to believe the creature's words.

No more. Stormrage may have been anything, may have done anything, but in the end he had betrayed Nex. Betrayed him utterly.

He looked upon the horrific scene with dimming eyes, waves of evil pulsing over him with every shift of that immense power that was the demon lord. He looked, and wished nothing more than to rush forward and throw his might against both of them. Like a moth charging a flame, blind to its own doom, he would have struck even so.

But he was frozen. In fact, he felt himself slipping, not only mentally but physically. He was dimly aware of rocks battering at him as he tumbled down the steep slope, until finally pain as Brightpoint's claws dug into him, halting his disastrous fall. He could feel the drake reaching out to him, but the words rushed away from his mind as he slipped down, down, into the horrific regenerative trance.

Impossible. He'd endured this trance just days ago, and hardly used his power since. He should have had no need to enter into its horrors. But the sight he had seen triggered it, ruthless and cold as the demon lords themselves.

And though he clawed through narrow passageways, endless traps he dimly remembered, struggling to free himself from the trance he should not have entered, he found he could not.

. . . . .

Dumby gave a final bawl and dropped towards the rocks below. Like a stone.

Cursing, Saire plied the psychic whip, urging the beast forward. Incredibly, the creatures terror of whatever lay ahead was so great that it resisted even this overwhelming influence. Saire could feel what lay ahead as well, a diminishing influence of vast power that seemed to be disappearing towards, of all places, the emptiness of the Twistin Nether to the east of this vile place known as Shadowmoon Valley.

However, it seemed its influence was still enough to terrify Dumby. In growing desperation she whipped it into a slower descent, allowing it to bank away from that terrifying presence ahead.

By some miracle, perhaps a final gasp of self-preservation within the empty shell that was Dumby's mind, their precipitous drop to the broken ledge below was slowed to survivable speeds at the last moment. They struck hard, Dumby taking most of the force of the impact, this time silently. For a moment Saire wavered, experience a moment of seasickness, or perhaps more accurately airsickness, as the constant thudding beat of wings accompanied by its up and down jerking was replaced with perfect stillness.

With shaking fingers she loosed her harness, then slipped off the exhausted drake, stumbling when she hit the ground as the strain of sitting with her legs spread even wider than they would have been on a horse struck her. She staggered around, bowlegged, before finally making her unsteady way to Dumby's head. "Hey," she said into the dull eye gazing at her from the side she was on. "Go find your brother, okay?"

She waited for an answer, but Dumby's only response was to go still, the eye starting to glaze over before her very eyes. She swore, feeling a pang of guilt for the way she'd pushed the poor creature.

Then she turned and headed towards that diminishing presence. It was the last place she would have willingly gone, but knowing Lokiv odds were better than good the human would be found near the core of that terrifying aura.

The continent's edge to her left, unforgiving broken hills to her right, she walked as the unimaginably massive structure ahead drew ever closer. Perhaps a mile away from it motion in the hills to her right drew her attention, the hint of a shadowy form rising momentarily into view. Navigating the broken rocks took nearly as long as the walking had, but finally a steep slope loomed ahead, and perched on it was Lokiv's large drake, a ragged bundle of cloth at the creature's feet.

The drake, Brightpoint, looked at her curiously as she approached. **I know you**, a voice boomed into her mind, like a child with the lungs of a titan. **He thinks of you**.

Saire felt her face flush, though she wasn't sure why. "You're a good friend, to protect him in his helpless state."

**Yes, I am a friend.** Odd emphasis to that, and Saire wondered briefly why. **But he promised me I could return to my brood when I brought him here. I don't want to leave him alone, but . . .** The loud mental communication trailed off, like a child pleading for an ice cream then waiting in expectant silence for a yes or no.

Saire fought a smile. "Go on. I will care for him."

The nether drake dropped its head down to carefully nudge Lokiv's still form onto a safe perch, then turned and trotted away on its four legs until it was at the edge of the ridge. With a bunch of muscles and a lunge it took to the sky, dropping over the edge of the continent and out of sight.

Moving gingerly over broken rock, Saire made for where Lokiv was perched. As she got closer she realized the what made him look so huddled and broken was the way his left leg curled tight against his back, muscles straining to the point of snapping. His right hand was buried in the folds of his cloak, the edges around it blackened with char, but a convulsion shaking the human's form brought the hand jerking into view. She gasped as she saw the full extent of its damage; the fingers were fused together by molten flesh, and then the entire hand was fused to the cloth. She didn't think she'd ever seen such a terrible wound on a living person.

Lokiv's eyes were wide, staring with utmost horror into a distant place she couldn't see, and she recognized the human's state as the "sleep" he occasionally entered, especially after battles. Although perhaps sleep was a poor word, for his eyes never closed and his limbs constantly thrashed and flailed. Those eyes glowed with inner fire that only served to emphasize their dark emptiness and he was making low mewling noises, every now and again would give a low, strangled cry of pain and woe. When she'd seen him in this state before Saire had looked upon him with fear and disgust, but now, after everything they had endured together, she felt something new.

Pity.

Without knowing quite what prompted her, she moved over cautiously and sat on the ground next to his shoulder. Then, gently but firmly, she took his head and lifted it to her lap. She began smoothing his hair with careful, light caresses, the way a mother would a sleeping child.

There was no response from Lokiv, save that his frantically thrashing left hand nearly caught her in the side of the head. She caught the limb, surprised with how feeble it was when it always seemed so strong, and shoved it under her legs to pin it to the rock. Then, wondering at her own daring, she drew her knife and began carefully cutting his left hand away from his burned cloak.

Amazingly, though it must have been an agonizing procedure not even this roused the human from his wretched state. She began cutting away the fused cloth, then more carefully cutting each finger away from the others. Blood flowed, most of it on the human's own ragged cloak, which she tore strips from to bandage the wound, grimacing at how filthy it was. Finally she patted him down until she found where he kept the Ankh and began doing her best to halt the bleeding.

At the first surge of healing nature magic within him he went abruptly still, and the wildly glowing eyes abruptly waned. He blinked once, twice, a third time, and the glow in his eyes faded to nothing. But it was not the empty, eternal blackness she was used to seeing in those eyes. That too faded, until his eyes became a more normal, muddy brown that was, if anything, surprisingly ordinary.

"Thank the Light," Lokiv breathed, and to her shock she saw tears leaking from those ordinary eyes. "Oh gods, thank the Light."

Then he buried his face in her lap, like a frightened child hiding from an unseen monster, and began to weep.

"What is it?" Saire demanded, terrified by this unexpected weakness in a creature she'd once thought felt no emotion at all, in truth perhaps did not even bear a trace of humanity. "What happened to your eyes?"

"I'd rather be blind than see," he said quietly, voice muffled.

"Your eyes, why are they normal now?"

Lokiv finally stirred, head turning until those nondescript brown eyes looked at her, large with fright like a child's. "I don't want to see anymore," he whispered. "Please."

Saire swallowed. Even the human's demon form was less terrifying than this uncharacteristic vulnerability. "See what?" she managed to say with some degree of calm.

Those muddy brown eyes blinked once, slowly, and when they opened again they were fixed on her with all the force of an auger. He sat up, leaning against the ledge behind them. "Second sight," he whispered. "Gift, or curse? With it a person can see beyond what others see. Into the realm populating shadows, into the hidden places where beings beyond the normal dwell. The true nature of things." He laughed raggedly. "The problem is good things, kindly things, do not fear being seen, so they reveal themselves openly to all. It's only terrifying things, vile things, hateful things, that hide. So it is these things the second sight shows me."

Second sight. Of course. She had seen the seers and mystics of the humans, eyes glazed over with milky white, seeing into a realm no other eyes could see. Why not Lokiv's bottomless wells? _When you look into the abyss the abyss looks back. But it has no secrets to reveal, while yours open up to it one faltering layer at a time._

What had he seen that was so terrible that he rejected the second sight, perhaps for the first time in a long, long while?

She didn't ask, but he answered anyway. "I saw a Demon Lord," he said hollowly. He seemed almost to be speaking to himself, and he sank down until his head rested against her shoulder. "I have never seen its like. It was only the fiend's avatar I saw, and yet it seemed as if it could reach out and crush this fractured world in one clawed hand, without expending even a tithe of its power. Ten miles away as the storm crow flies I was distanced from it, and I feared to look upon it, or let any part of myself be in a position where I could be seen. When it spoke I was afraid its voice alone would crush me."

Saire sprang to her feet. "We must flee! Where such a one is near other demons will soon follow, and who knows what devastation a Demon Lord can wreak with its will alone."

A hoarse sound from Lokiv, and when she looked back at him his shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Flee?" he whispered. "You think it possible to flee from Kil'jaeden?"

Saire went deathly still, struck dumb with utmost horror. Her knowledge of things demonic was blessedly lacking, but that was a name all knew. Archimonde had been a force none on Azeroth could challenge, striding uncontested for the World Tree it so coveted. Legions had died beneath his feet, and he had not even expended his own power to the campaign. Had not needed to.

And it was said Kil'jaeden was the greater of the two. The right hand of Sargeras himself.

"You looked upon Kil'jaeden?" she finally whispered.

Lokiv shuddered and shrank against the rock. "Looked upon him? With my second sight I saw truths to him that can never be unseen. The truth of his corruption. The full terrible extent of his darkness." His brown eyes went distant, sightless once more, as if he was sinking again into that terrible place which had caught him.

She came to stand beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly from his daze. "Human," she said gently, then "Nex. What can we do?"

After long moments the human stirred at her use of his true name. "Do? No, there is no need to do anything. It is gone. It accomplished its purpose here, and has returned to whatever foul region of the Twisting Nether it broods in Lordship, planning its war against all creation."

She looked at him in amazement, for though he had spoken words of comfort, if anything he looked more desolate than before. "What do you know that you aren't telling me?" she demanded.

He turned then and finally met her gaze, and she flinched back, such was the desolation in his eyes. Through the hopeless weariness now a smouldering anger fought to burst free. "That Kil'jaeden's errand here was to see how his puppet fared."

His gaze faltered, and his voice become lost once more. "Don't you see, Saire?" he whispered. "Stormrage is a servant of the Burning Legion. On Azeroth he worked to destroy the Lich King not so he could rid the world of that terrible power, but at the behest of his demonic masters."

She stared at him in horror, wishing she had asked none of these questions. Wishing she had not followed this creature. Her prince, her people, were in service to this creature. This creature that served the same forces that had guided the undead in destroying her home. "It cannot be," she finally said. But her words had no strength.

Lokiv did not respond. Instead he pulled his cloak about himself and stood, clutching his head has his breathing became ragged. "Gods, not again," he moaned. And Saire watched as his eyes deepened to pits of blackness once more, as if against the human's own volition. He slumped down onto the shelf and began thrashing once more, somehow again caught in his trance.

How could this be? The human had told her long ago he had no need for sleep, only a trance when he used too much of his power and needed to restore his mind. That trance never lasted more than a few hours, and that was a mercy for his dreams seemed more terrible than anything in waking. A rest that was not restful.

But this trance was different, she knew. How long had Lokiv thrashed on the ground while Brightpoint hovered over him? More than hours, she instinctively knew, from the drake's own impatience. She hesitantly slipped down to sit beside him, again taking his head in her lap and trapping his arms as best she could as his legs kicked feebly against the rock beneath them.

Should she wake him once more? He had seemed so relieved when she'd done it the first time. And yet his trance only came when his mind was so weary and broken it needed it. Some terrible healing process involved with the trance, perhaps one that could heal his broken mind from the betrayals he'd discovered this day. Some instinct warned her to let him be, no matter how much it may look as if he suffered.

In truth, she wished she had a trance of her own, to let her forget the news that her beloved prince was in the service to an agent of the Burning Legion.

She'd thought the battle for Tempest Keep was to save her own people. To take this world for their own and crush any who would contest their right to be here. But if Illidan had wanted these draenei dead, and he served the Burning Legion, then the draenei were likely a force of good. And one they had no quarrel with.

Sunwell's grasp, had her people captured a naaru to feed upon it? How could they? She knew bitterness ran rampant through the blood elves for the Light that had failed to protect them from the Scourge. It was the elves themselves who had taught humans of the Light, who had trained the first human priests, paladins, and clerics. But they had turned away.

And now, in their hatred, they had attacked a naaru. An unthinkable crime when she'd viewed the naaru as merely the protector of her people's enemies. But the thought that they'd done this foul deed in the service of the Burning Legion . . .

Her sitting posture slumped into sort of a sprawled slump, head resting on the human's shoulder. But exhausted as she was it was still a long, long time before her own sleep took her.

. . . . .

_A hissing was all the warning he had, and he jerked aside, hand flashing out instinctively, to catch the dart that shot from the tiny hole above and to the right. It was only after he'd caught the thing near its tiny rear feathers that he saw the poison glistening on it, and his panic notched up another level._

_Gliblit's, probably. Godsdamn imp had a mind so devious it would make a nathrezim jealous. And it wouldn't do to forget that his mistress hadn't been the only one setting traps in this maze. Nor that not all the traps were magical._

_The tunnel wall behind him exploded, obsidian talons leading the way attached to an arm so pasty white it seemed painted. Horns followed, the creature bellowing as it tore through solid stone as if it was paper._

_Speaking of nathrezim . . ._

_Nex gave a cry of terror and sprinted forward, leaping the pitfall he knew about and squirming into a crawl space so small it barely accommodated him. Yet, in spite of its tiny size, somehow the monstrous huge dreadlord remained but feet behind him, that clawed hand ever reaching._

_How long had he fled from this horrific creature this time? It seemed like days, certainly was hours at least, and that terrified him more than anything._

_He knew, of course, that this was the regenerative trance. That these memories were tainted by his own panic and fear in that horrible waking nightmare. In reality he'd fled Rachondimus through this maze that led to the surface with ease, the demon lord nowhere to be seen behind him. He'd moved through all the correct tunnels, circumvented all the traps which he knew like the back of his hand. And contrary to many of his trance nightmares, even after escaping onto the surface with its blinding light, so bright he had to run with his eyes shut relying on his second sight, Rachondimus had not met him there. He'd been in proximity to the horrible demon only twice: the time he and his mistress had summoned the creature, and the moment he killed it in the Plaguelands._

_But logic had no mercy for him in this place. It was a world of terror so real it stalked the corridors of his mind threatening to tear away his sanity, just as the dreadlord followed a step behind, always moments from catching him no matter how swift he fled, no matter how small the spaces he crawled into. And somehow, even though he could barely breath in this tiny space, could barely scuttle forward, Rachondimus remained just as large behind him as in reality._

_In his frantic flight he didn't notice the tunnel abruptly drop beneath him into a chute as steep as the familiar one that dropped him into the Pit. Perhaps it hadn't really dropped beneath him in reality; he couldn't remember any tunnel like this, at least not on any of the safe routes through the maze. Yet now he was falling, the slope greased and no effort of his able to stop his headlong descent. He shot out of the tunnel like a cork from a wine bottle, falling ten feet to the ground below, where a bed of spikes waited. Pain in his right hand as a spike punched right through his palm, skewering him. He jerked his face sideways to prevent that spike continuing on into his eye and through his skull, and slammed his left hand onto the tiny clear space beside the spike, pushing up with all his strength. Somehow he stopped his fall, balanced on that one hand with his legs sticking straight up and spikes all around. They looked like the spikes so common in the Bladed Mountains, although he couldn't see how his mistress could have managed to get those all the way to Deadwind Pass on Azeroth._

The night beckons.

_He jerked his head up, past his body, to see Rachondimus slithering from the hole with the horrific grace of a snake, wings snapping out as the creature hovered over him, then began to descend, claws waiting._

_With a bellow of fear he yanked his hand free of the spike then shoved off one-handed, twisting to land on his feet at the end of the field of spikes. A tunnel stretched ahead of him, a hallway wide and buttressed like a cathedral of rainbow stone, leading to a chapel at the end. He twisted away from that glass door and found the corridor by which Theril had reached this hallway, ducking through it. Beams of superheated light carved towards him, and somehow he managed to duck between all of them. A clawed hand closing around his wrist in the snapping of bones sent him lurching forward, his hand tearing away into the creature's grip. He ignored the pain and fled._

_Why couldn't he wake? His body didn't need this trance, and his mind certainly couldn't survive this level of terror indefinitely. His power had long since returned to him, the shadows coming easy to his call without pain or weariness. And yet he remained trapped._

_What was there in the waking world that filled him with such terror even this trance was more attractive by comparison? Stormrage had betrayed him, as was the want of demonic creatures. He should have expected it, of course, but now he was trapped._

_Trapped._

_The corridor ended ahead, no side passageways. Yet somehow the Blinkstrike was in his hand, melting again with its endless pain. Yet it took him up, through the ceiling, into another narrow crawlway. A snort behind, a look into the terrifying visage of the nathrezim, with its bony features, long, slender nose, and the long horns scraping the ceiling as it clawed its way forward._

_He fled._

_Was this the path he would've chosen, all those months ago when he swore his service to Stormrage with the blackened remnants of this very creature that pursued him not a hundred yards away? Service to the very creatures he so longed to destroy? But then, wasn't it a trait of demons that the only creatures they hated worse than each other were those that were not demons? Was he just walking in the inevitable path carved for him from the moment of his birth?_

_His heritage, even? His mistress, his mother, had never told him of his sire. Stormrage had hinted, long ago, that there was some secret horror behind that knowledge. Horror Stormrage had promised to reveal. Perhaps proof of his own demonic heritage. The foul blood that coursed through his veins and let him draw the shadows to him. The metamorphosis inherent in his own nature, waiting only for his loss of control to release it and assume true form._

_A hatchway opened beneath him, dropping him back into the darkness of his mistress's lair, and he fled once more. And there, ahead, was the way out, the dim light passing through a narrow crack in the stone._

_Rachondimus stood before it, eyes blazing with triumph. "There is no escape from this, human," the dreadlord hissed. "Would you keep running?"_

_He looked down at his clenched fists. The hands of a child, weaponless and weak. He could not even pierce that pasty flesh. And looking upon those pathetic fists he realized the truth. The truth of everything._

_There had never been a choice. Not on this path. Not on any path. The only true decision he could make was the one he'd forever been too cowardly to turn to, much as he'd mocked himself by pretending it was his desire._

_He looked up, met those soulless eyes. "No," he said. And he stepped forward to meet those waiting claws._

Nex woke up, silent and still. There was warmth beneath him, around him, soft flesh holding him tight. Saire. A deeply, deeply foolish girl, if she'd given her heart to him. He found he pitied her. For a moment he lay within that gentle embrace, staring at her face. Narrow, lovely features, eyes clenched tight as if trying to sleep with a bright light shining on her face. A look of distress as if her dreams, too, were troubling. And perhaps they were.

He pushed to his feet.

. . . . .

Saire woke gradually, distantly aware of hard stone beneath her, drawing discomfort to her hip and shoulder as she lay on her side, her back to a solid presence. Lokiv, perhaps? Only if the human was wide as a cliff and had a ridge of hard rock jutting into the small of her back.

She jolted awake with a gasp, reaching, but her arms were empty. Opening her eyes, she found she was wrapped in the human's cloak, singed along one side, ragged and filthy. She pushed it away and surged to his feet, staring at the place where Lokiv should have been.

Instead the human's dusky gray armor was laid out neatly, the human's ragged, bulging pack beside it. The Ankh rested atop the breastplate, as if it was the heart of this cold, empty suit. Even more bizarre, there was a three-foot square of blackness above the suit. She recognized it as the dimensional hole from which Lokiv had drawn out the still body of Ilinar Montfere, days and days ago.

All his possessions. Even his heavy belt knife, lying beside the armor. The way it was all laid out told her as certain as a note left behind that it was a gift to her.

Saire stared at the array, feeling a creeping horror come over her. He meant to confront Illidan, and he did not think he would survive the night. She reached up slowly and felt her lips, remembering the feel of his. Had it been last night? Or perhaps only in her dreams?

What madness had they been drawn into, here on this broken world so far from home? When they risked death and worse for a night elf turned demon who seemed to care about them only for what uses he could find in them, and manipulated them with their weaknesses and their desires. The naga and their lust for magic, and their desire to have vengeance on the night elves. The blood elves and their cursed illness caused by their addiction to magic. The draenei and their desire to rid their home of demonic influence. The Broken and their pitiable affliction.

And one young human, and his burning drive to slay any demon he could find. The drive that would have him attempt to slay the demon he had sworn his service to, the demon that had betrayed him.

The demon that would destroy him with the ease a child crushes an ant.

She took a step to follow, determined he would not face this alone, not understanding when or why she had come to such a decision.

And tripped.

She cursed and teetered on the brink of the ledge, the steep slope before her, before she managed to find her balance and throw herself backwards. Then with a glare she turned her eyes on what she'd tripped over.

It was a rock, perhaps the size of her fist and perfectly round. It glowed with a faint reddish light, pulsing with power, and with a hiss of surprise she leaned down to rest her hand upon it.

A felstone saturated with Lokiv's power. More in this mere stone than her entire mana pool held. By an order of magnitude more. She picked it up, feeling its warmth, then stared at the armor, the weapon, the magical tools all arrayed before her. Things he would need if he wished to face his master and attempt to slay him. But not only all of his possessions but his power, too, emptied into this rock so that he approached the temple before them a mere human, weak and defenseless.

And she knew.

He had made an oath to serve Illidan, and he would not break it. He did not go to confront Illidan about his meeting with Kil'Jaeden, to attempt to kill the demonic night elf for his betrayal. He went to tell Illidan he would no longer serve him, and to willingly accept the punishment he would receive.

With a cry she shoved the felstone into the dimensional portal, following it with the Ankh and then pieces of armor, all of Lokiv's possessions, until only the box meant to hold this pocket portal remained. She spent a few moments working out how to close the portal, catching the fluttering cloth released into her hand and shoving it into the box. Then clutching this prize before her she ran into the darkness after the human to sway him from his madness.

And from the darkness hands reached out to grab her, the pale hands of her own kin.


	25. Resignation

Hey guys. Didn't think I'd leave you hanging with just the second half of last week's chapter did you :)?

NT

Chapter Twenty-Four

Resignation

_Nex-thanarak shubar'tarul akhet, ni-thanarak ovi'nex. You are nothing. Drawn from the nothingness, you remain so, and into nothingness will you return._

It was a new sensation, walking through the dark without his second sight. Not a pleasant one, either. The ground was rough and uneven all the way around the north wall of the Black Temple, and he found himself stumbling often, even tripping. It was a miracle he hadn't fallen down yet. Such clumsiness was also a new sensation; even as a child he'd never been ungainly with his growing body.

Humbling, to find that so much of his vaunted grace came from his second sight. And frustrating, that no efforts on his part could help him walk more smoothly in the darkness. Yet even with the frustration and, he admitted, embarrassment, he refused to call upon his second sight. It would take more than mere hours to erase the horrors he had witnessed in such very, very great detail.

Farther north, away from the wall, he could see naga encampments, sentries on station. From the wall above him he heard the crunch of boots passing in constant patrol, and in the sky above dragonhawks, couatls, and even a blindingly bright, fiery conjured phoenix that drew his gaze in spite of his grim purpose. The reptilian eyes of the naga sentries tracked him as he passed along the wall, but none moved to slow his path. A lucky thing, that, for he would not have been able to defend himself well if an attack had come.

Or perhaps more accurate to say unwilling, rather than unable.

The north wall finally ended, but rather than a west wall the entire front of the Black Temple was open, once richly flagged but now those stones were broken. This made a courtyard between the north and south walls, with the east end taken up by the temple's massive entranceway.

Within the courtyard a sprawling encampment of naga and elvish officers and elite troops filled the entire space, a large pathway dividing the two camps down the center of the courtyard. Scouts, sentries, messengers, and officers streamed along the pathway coming to and from the temple's entrance. Nex walked to the beginning of this pathway and started along it, ignoring the glances of those he passed. Surprisingly, he was not accosted.

The naga encampment, while alien to his eyes, was fairly standard. However, as he walked past the blood elf camp he noted two things.

The first was shocking, but not really surprising given the circumstances. The blood elves he passed stared back at him with eyes glowing green with fel energy. They could only be getting that energy from demons. Not particularly surprising, considering they'd just finished conquering a demonic citadel and overthrowing a demon lord. There had likely been demons of the higher castes among the prisoners taken: eredar warlocks, wrathguards, shivarran priestesses, succubi, felhounds, and any other demons with a scrap of corrupt power that could be stolen away. Likely those prisoners that refused to swear allegiance to Stormrage would be given over to the blood elves to feed their addiction.

It was shocking because it took a special breed of madness to drain fel energy from a demon without knowing how to use it. That sort of corrupt power didn't just sit idle in the gut, giving the imbiber a nice arcane high and silencing the hunger for magic for a time. It tended to spread, seeking to control and weaken. That the blood elves were tapping demonic magics was as reckless as it was unbelievable. He could only hope Stormrage had shown them how to safely handle the ill-got magic they were stealing.

The second thing was surprising, but not really shocking. The green-eyed blood elves he passed were saluting him. Some were even nodding in respect. He noted gazes falling to the bulge at his chest where his Illidari stone hung on its cord, and could only assume they recognized his master's mark on him. Perhaps they had even been given similar, if less powerful, stones to show their allegiance for Stormrage, in return for demonic magic to consume.

Who the hell knew. It had been months since he'd last been in this camp, and Stormrage hadn't been Lord of Outland with a conquered demon army under his hooves at the time.

Near the entrance to the courtyard he slowed as his eyes fell upon a wagon resting up against the side of the once-holy but now corrupt temple. A caged wagon made of bars pulsing with elder power, holding one single, forlorn prisoner.

Maiev Shadowsong. Neither time nor imprisonment had been kind to the former leader of the Telratha, the Warden of the Watchers. Her armor had been stripped away, leaving her strangely small and vulnerable in the wagon she'd brought to this land to capture Stormrage.

Would that she had succeeded.

"For the Watchers!" the ragged elf said in a hoarse voice.

Nex paused on the verge of a mocking retort, staring at the wretched creature. Driven blind by vengeance, a betrayer of her own kind in the pursuit of her quarry. Was he any different? He turned and walked on, saying nothing. Her cries followed him as he walked deeper into the temple's courtyard. Accusing cries, and every accusation fair and correct.

About halfway across his attention was drawn upward by startled shouts and yelled warnings, as well as the high shriek of a dragonhawk. He looked up just in time to dive to the side, throwing himself flat and scraping up his already injured right arm as a huge shape swooped past. An elvish courtesan walking a short distance ahead wasn't so lucky, and the poor female barely had time to scream before claws raked across her, mangling her head and shoulders beyond recognition and killing her all but instantly.

Massive wings snapped out, beating heavily to give the creature some height, even as a dragonhawk swooped in, the elf mounted on its back bringing the slender lance in his hands to bear. Brightpoint dipped a wing, dodging cleanly, and the dragonhawk shrieked again and flapped wildly to keep from colliding with a large tent.

**Traitor!** the nether drake shrieked in his mind, buffeting at his mental defenses with such force that, lacking his power, Nex was almost overwhelmed. Brightpoint banked sharply for another pass, but a hail of arrows from one of the walltops sent him soaring upwards and away, raising a deafening cry of rage and frustration.

Nex watched the retreating shape with a heavy heart. _ Your matriarch is imprisoned, then?_

**You knew she would be! You lured me away, leaving her to the clutches of Zuluhed the Whacked! You, who captured my beloved Karynaku in the first place, leaving her helpless in the clutches of the madman who imprisoned Alextrasza herself!**

_Such was not my intent._

Brightpoint screamed and started to dive, only to bank again as a dozen dragonhawks winged at him from the east, in formation like a V of ducks. The nether drake hissed its frustration, hovering as if it would make the suicidal plunge anyway in the hopes of bringing him down, and then it turned and shot away, far faster than the burdened dragonhawks could follow. **You've doomed the Netherwing Dragonflight, human! Your name will be a curse to us forever!**

Then the nether drake was gone. As elves picked themselves up, exchanging shaky words with those around them, nervous laughter, Nex stood motionless in the center of the pathway. No curses came his way, even as elves and naga stepped around him. A traitor indeed. Betrayer of all he came across, all who trusted him. The blows seemed to come from all sides, and he sunk deeper and deeper into himself, curling up, walling his emotions away to grim silence. Without a final look to the skies, he took a step forward, then another.

Finally he reached the entrance to the Black Temple, a broad, buttressed archway that opened into a gaping black passageway, stretching for almost thirty feet before light could be seen. Nex stepped inside, dodging dim figures in the darkness as he passed through this tunnel. He had a feeling it was being left unlit for a reason, perhaps a testament to the foul desecration that had befallen this once-holy sight.

In the antechamber beyond he was surprised to find a huddle of Broken draenei, waiting before the huge doors that led into the great hall, and from there back to wherever Stormrage perched like a monstrous bat in his foul roost. His surprise increased as one of the Broken caught sight of him and began whispering to the others, until all were staring at him and murmuring amongst themselves. After a few moments one of the largest of the hunchbacked, frog-like creatures strode forward. Nex could feel the Broken's power, the power of, of all things, the elements.

"Human," the creature rumbled in passable Orcish. "I am told you speak this tongue."

Nex inclined his head. "Can I help you, Broken?"

Perhaps the word was a pejorative, but if so the Broken did not show offense. "I am Akama of the Ashtongue Tribe. Word from our kin in the Zangar Marshes is slow to reach us, but I have heard of your passage through, and that you drew the tribes there into alliance with Illidan Stormrage before I could send word that such an alliance was already formed."

"Yes." Nex looked away. Yet one more triumph in his service to Stormrage.

"I am eager for word of my friend, Vurgil Mudscraper. The Fenstrider emissary indicated that he was last seen escorting your army-"

Nex stepped around the Broken and continued on. He had only gotten two steps before Akama caught his arm. "Human, please. Before the disaster at the City of Light Vurgil was wed to my cousin. I would know what became of him."

Vurgil. Yes, that was right. His entirely unrelated conversation with Theril, obviously misinterpreted. He'd wondered where the mage had got to, after he released the Broken druid. So again he betrayed the innocent without even knowing it. "He guided us to the edge of the swamp, where I released him to return to his tribe."

"But he did not return." Akama's surprisingly powerful grip turned him around until he met the Broken's eyes.

Nex looked away quickly. "The marshes are dangerous, Broken. Perhaps he did not survive the return trip."

He felt Akama's gaze hard upon him, and then the Broken sighed. "I understand," he said heavily, releasing Nex's arm. "I begin to wonder, human, about this alliance. Did the Ashtongue lead the assault to topple Magtheridon from his dark throne, only to replace him with-" The Broken abruptly cut off, as if realizing the dangerous words he was speaking, and to whom he spoke. "Vurgil was named Hallahd Brighteyes, human. Corruption struck him greater than most, and yet as twisted as his body became, his heart was ever pure. Remember that, if any decency remains within you."

Well. That was about the most pointed rebuke possible. Nex tucked those emotions in with the rest, drawing the ball still tighter, and continued on.

The great hall was filled with feasting elves and naga, and though the noise level dropped dramatically at his entrance none deigned notice him. He passed through to another hallway, a wide stairs leading up, another antechamber. And finally to doors huge and wide, made of solid iron saturated with fel energies. Demons guarded these doors, and Spell Breaker elites, and naga myrmidons, and even two burly Ashtongue champions. As Nex strode forward the group parted wordlessly. He placed his hands on the righthand door, pushing, and it refused to budge.

Easy to draw shadows and strengthen his limbs. Nex stepped aside. "Open it," he ordered Stormrage's guards.

"You would enter unannounssssed?" a myrmidon hissed.

Nex simply stared at the creature until finally it and a few others threw the door wide. Then he stepped inside.

The room was larger than he'd expected. At one time it had been roofed by glass, judging by the twisted frame, but now it was open to the air. At one end a monstrous throne, ugly and crudely made of black iron, perched atop a high dais. The throne was a large flat expanse between two tall armrests, ideal for a pit lord to stand or lay upon. Stormrage seemed small, crouched in its midst in meditation.

To one side a large table covered with crude maps shaped by demonic hands obviously tracked Stormrage's continued campaign to take Outland. A handful of blood elf officers and a lone naga circled the table in contemplative silence. One of the blood elves was none other than Prince Kael'thas himself. At the prince's hip, sheathed in ornate leather, the Shard of Asteros. Another legacy of his service, his betrayals of his own kind.

Nex strode forward along the black carpet leading to the throne. "Leave us," Stormrage said without stirring from his position.

The officers around the table looked up with surprise, eyes tracking Nex. "My Lord-" Kael'thas began.

"Even you, my Right Hand. I would have words with my wayward servant."

Kael'thas bowed low, patrician features smooth, though the look he turned Nex's way was far from amicable, then turned on one heel and strode from the room. The others had fled almost as soon as Stormrage spoke.

After a short silence, Nex standing motionless in the center of the room, Stormrage finally stirred, moving to stand at the front edge of the throne. "I had not expected to see you here, Nex-thanarak."

He felt a moment, just a moment, of incredulous outrage before his leaden blanket of numbness settled back over his emotions. Through the stone Stormrage could feel anywhere Nex was, and had to have been aware of his approach for days. Was this a joke? A taunt of some sort?

But no, Stormrage had been occupied with a demon lord. Such considerations as a mere human would fall by the wayside. "I came with haste," he replied.

"Indeed. It seems the elves of Corona's Blaze managed to take Tempest Keep without you. Even managed to capture the naaru without you. Perhaps you are not so necessary after all."

Again, indignation bridled before dull numbness swept it away. Now it was obvious Stormrage was baiting him. "I am pleased the mop-up was completed in my absence. Velansar Redcrest is an able commander."

"Yes, and a loyal one." Stormrage paused as if waiting for a response, then crouched at the edge of the throne, like some vulture, blindfolded eyes burning down at him. "Why are you here, Nothing?"

No hesitation, no gathering of courage. He had no courage to gather, no reason to stall. "I've come to address certain clauses in our contract which you have broken."

The demonic night elf arched an eyebrow. "Oh? Which ones?"

Nex kept his stare unwavering on the powerful visage before him. "All of them."

. . . . .

Saire was in heaven.

Admittedly, she'd been somewhat nervous as the blood elf patrol escorted her back to Black Temple. Considering the previous outrages she'd suffered at the hands of her own people, her own villagers for that matter, she expected to be tossed in a cage and left to rot.

And yes, her first stop had been a sort of prisoner's camp full of Wretched and a few shifty looking elves and humans. By the numbers of her people in the area she could see that her prince had called more elves to him and brought them to Outland. But she'd merely been held there while runners went off searching for some officer who could tell them whether Saire Firedge, Mage Adept of Corona's Blaze, was important enough to be treated well.

Apparently she was, for not five minutes later she'd been escorted to, of all things, a bath chamber in a lower floor of the temple. And not only did it have running water, deliciously heated, but that water was as clean and pure as a baby's giggle. She'd almost wept as handmaids stripped off her filthy robes, scraped the dirt and worse from her skin, then helped her into the deep bath and began washing her hair. All the while another maid stood at the entrance to the room, holding up various fine silk robes for her inspection. Nowhere near the finest quality to be found, but the very height of elegance compared to her bedraggled robes.

As expected of any good handmaid, these spent the entire time chattering about frivolities and gushing about how beautiful she was, and how she should really grow out her hair, and didn't all that time marching just make her legs so toned and absolutely gorgeous!

Saire lay back, luxuriating in it all with the water lapping around her ears, and contemplated a meal to equal the fineness of this bath, and maybe some opit if there was any to be found.

Then a tidbit of the young elf girls' chatter drew her attention, and she surged up out of the water. "What?"

Two sets of wide eyes, blue and green, stared at her. "What, Mistress?" one repeated.

"What did you just say about the prince?"

The two girls looked at each other and burst into excited giggles. "Well why do you think you've been rushed here and cleaned up?" one said in a voice that was nearly a squeal. The other was looking at her with envy bordering on jealousy in her green eyes.

"I don't know, why have I been?"

"Well Prince Kael'thas has demanded to see you personally, of course! As soon as possible!"

Saire stood, water splashing as she leapt out of the pool. "The white one with gold trim," she told the handmaid fussing over the robes, even as she reached for a towel and shoved it into the blue-eyed girl's hands. "Hurry now."

. . . . .

"Care to elaborate?"

Nex had expected anger, or at least displeasure, but Stormrage appeared as blank and empty as he. He took a slow breath. "I told a naaru that my only purpose for existing was to destroy demons and other servants of the Burning Legion. That naaru then told me I should go immediately to my master, and see what my true purpose has become."

"Oh?" Stormrage smiled, or at least bared his teeth. "And what did you find?"

"I found my master kneeling before Kil'jaeden, leader of the Burning Legion. It seems that rather than keeping your promises to me, those of taking me into your service and showing me the way to greater power when fighting demons, and of having demons to fight as I so desire, and finally that you were not aligned with the Burning Legion, I've been tricked into joining that very force."

"You fancy yourself a demon, Nothing?"

Nex smiled mirthlessly. "More and more, your tasking me with destroying innocents and servants of the Light makes sense. You were testing to see if my hatred of demons was great enough that I wouldn't balk at fighting those diametrically opposed to the Burning Legion. And much to my shame, it was. Instead of fighting those I wished to fight, those you promised I would fight, I slew innocent Draenei, who have been enemies of the Burning Legion and especially the Eredar for millennia. I threw all of my power against a naaru, trying to destroy or subdue it. I even nearly went so far as to infect that naaru with demonic essence, turning it into something unspeakable.

"I spent my entire life seeking to destroy the demons I felt I resembled, but I didn't even know of corruption until I joined you. My desire was to destroy the Burning Legion, not join it. So my service to you is done."

Stormrage stirred, dropping lightly from the throne to lean back against it. "Somewhat childish, don't you think? At least for that first complaint about, what was it, me not giving you the power you think you deserve? As if I haven't been embroiled in a campaign that should have ended in all our deaths at the hands of Magtheridon's hordes of demons, were it not for my efforts. And yet you whine about how I should be teaching you, training you. Such impatience is unbecoming, Nothing."

"This goes beyond impatience."

"Yes, your second complaint. That I've been turning you against innocents when I'd promised to see you fighting demons. Tell me, Nothing, do you use a sword to chop down a tree? It could do it, certainly. But it would foul the sword, and take far longer than necessary. You're not made for fighting on the front lines. Your talents extend far beyond that. Even the taking of a simple naaru structure nearly proved too much for you, while tasks requiring more subtlety, and comparatively much more difficult, you've completed with ease."

"You'd be surprised with what I'm capable of when it comes to fighting demons. I know them far better than I know any mortal race." Nex started, irritation flaring up through the emptiness within him for a moment. "These arguments are meaningless. What does it matter what use you have put me to, or which you would put me to? My service to you is done."

The fel green light behind Stormrage's blindfold flared. "You realize what an end to your service entails, do you not?"

"I am. I've long since gone past the point of fearing death as a consequence."

"Have you?" Stormrage whispered. The way he spoke the words made it sound like that wasn't true at all, and Nex bridled slightly at the echoes to his own feelings of cowardice.

But when Stormrage spoke again he seemed to have moved right past all of that, as if Nex hadn't come here to die. As if it was just a minor consideration. "Kil'jaeden wishes me to once again assail the Frozen Throne. I believe that was also a promise to you, was it not? That I would hurl your fearsome might against the Lich King?" There was far more irony in that question than Nex liked.

He took a step forward. "You misunderstand the purpose of this audience, Stormrage. I'm here to end my service to you. Yes, in the only way you'll allow."

The demonic night elf ignored that. "You suffer under the misapprehension that I serve Kil'jaeden, Nex. But in truth I serve only myself. He demands I destroy the Frozen Throne or face his wrath. So? I desire the Frozen Throne destroyed as well. Azeroth would benefit from the destruction of the Scourge. And as a bonus it prevents a demon lord from annihilating us all. So. I do not serve the Burning Legion in this, and if you set yourself against the Scourge, as you apparently wish to do, then you do not serve either me or the Burning Legion."

Nex fished the Illidari stone from beneath his shirt. "This would suggest otherwise."

Stormrage bared his fangs in what might have been a smile. "If service to me galls you so, if that stone weighs you down so dreadfully, cast it away."

Nex clenched his fist around the fel artifact. "I could have done that at any time, Stormrage. No, I stand here before you to die by your hand."

"Suicide by enraged master?" Stormrage asked mockingly. "How very brave of you." Stung, Nex made no reply, and his former master's tone grew cold. "I found you kneeling over the corpse of a dreadlord, paralyzed by despair as great as your hatred. A miserable wretch, waiting to die at the hands of the first enemy who came sniffing around the sight of a battle anyone of power could have felt from miles away. I gave you purpose when you had none. I gave you power to fulfill that purpose. I elevated you above the rest of your lowly kind and called you my own disciple."

"You've called me many things. Disciple is not one of them."

For what seemed a long while Nex felt the pressure of the green light burning in Stormrage's eyes. Then the demonic night elf shrugged and turned away, leaping lightly up onto his throne and walking casually over to resume his position of meditation. "It seems we are at an impasse. I have no desire to destroy a tool, even one as recalcitrant and irritating as you. And you haven't the courage to destroy yourself. Do let me know if you think of a solution to this dilemma." Stormrage went still, the green light dimming behind his eyes.

"I could simply attack you and force you to destroy me," Nex said to the recumbent form, but his former master did not stir. And Nex knew why.

For whatever reason, Stormrage had managed to wiggle out of his oaths to him. Oaths that should have been binding, holding the demonic night elf fast. Semantics, perhaps, a clever use of words to make a promise seem one thing without being anything. After ten thousand years Stormrage would likely be adept at such word games.

But for whatever reason, Stormrage owed him nothing. Nex's promises to his former master, however, still bound him. Bound him to service, to never betray Stormrage. Promises he should have been free of as soon as he learned he'd been betrayed, and yet they bound him still. Perhaps more semantics.

Or perhaps his former master spoke truth, and he really didn't serve the Burning Legion or Kil'jaeden. Convenient, if so, but that did not change Nex's resolve.

Well shit. He'd anticipated a lot of outcomes from this confrontation, most revolving around his former master's extreme displeasure and rage. He hadn't expected the bastard to refuse to kill him.

Hell, if he'd known Stormrage was going to be so cantankerous about it he wouldn't have told him he wanted to die in the first place. Let him think he was having the last laugh by snuffing him out. But he'd stupidly expected his former master to be delighted at the thought of killing him.

And now he was stuck.

. . . . .

The rooms of Kael'thas Sunstrider could only be described as princely.

Granted, they'd obviously been inhabited by unpleasant creatures recently, and efforts were still being made to pretty them up. Rugs of strange weave covered the floor, relics of the draenei or orcish inhabitants of this world no doubt. Ugly and thick, crude by any sense of the word. The walls had been scrubbed but some stains ran deeper than mere water could wash away, and more rugs and odd tapestries depicting what looked like stick figures buggering each other covered the worst of these.

The furniture, however, was decidedly elvish, as were the rugs in the corner of the room where the couches were grouped for social reclining. Obviously it was not just people that her prince had summoned to him since coming to Outland. There were even gauzy curtains hanging around the social area and the open doorway to the prince's room.

Prince Kael'thas already reclined on one of the couches, one lean, toned arm propping up his head as he sat motionless, staring at nothing. An opit pipe was in his hand, and from the tension in his neck and the slight color of his cheeks it was obvious he'd just inhaled a substantial dose and was now holding it in his lungs. Finally he relaxed, breathing out, but rather than the smoke she'd expected the air came clean from his lungs; he'd held it in so long he'd ghosted it.

By Anasterian's loins, he was gorgeous.

Lazy eyes turned to regard her. "Saire Firedge of Corona's Blaze," he murmured in a smooth, cultured voice that touched her ears like a lover's caress. "Be welcome."

Saire barely heard the words, and in truth barely held back a gasp. The prince's eyes had once been deepest blue, as everyone knew, but now they glowed with a fel green light.

Her suspicions were confirmed. The elves that had whisked her into camp had all been off, though she'd been too off-balance to truly notice. And the handmaids had one and all been virtually untainted. But some elves they'd passed at a distance, or half-seen down long corridors coming to these rooms on the highest floor of the Black Temple, had looked at her with these same eyes.

Eyes that had fed their addiction with demonic magic.

_Oh, my dear prince, not you too._

Strong, chiseled features regarded to her curiously. "Mistress Firedge?"

Saire numbly moved over to perch on the edge of the couch across from him. A reclining couch, but one with a sloping, cushioned back and one armrest, so you could recline on it in a variety of ways.

No haze of magic euphoria or opit could dull the brilliant intelligence in those glowing green eyes, and Kael'thas extended the pipe. "You are tense, Mistress Firedge. You've endured many troubles. I'm led to understand you near-singlehandedly carried out the assault on the Tempest Keep satellite known as the Arcatraz. Please relax and savor your triumph."

Saire hesitantly took the pipe. It was nearly down to the bottom, the little remaining charred so the smoke would be terrible. Stronger, if she could stand it, but unpleasant, like breathing charcoal dust. She couldn't believe Kael'thas had ghosted a full draw. Still she hadn't had opit in a long while, and she was quick to take her own modest lungful, wincing at the acrid searing in her chest. She couldn't hold it long, and after only a few seconds breathed it out, feeling the urge to cough rise up almost uncontrollably. She pushed it down fiercely, mortified at the thought of such a social faux pas.

Kael'thas took back the pipe, glanced inside, then sighed and tossed it away. "Such a waste. You should have breathed it into my lungs if your own couldn't hold it."

Saire felt her face flushing at the words. Sharing smoke wasn't quite as amorous as kissing, but it came close. The thought of doing it with this exquisitely gorgeous creature set her heart fluttering and her mind soaring, far quicker than mere opit could account for.

"I'm honored, my Prince," she said quietly.

He waved that aside. "In truth I'm envious, Mistress Saire. I've followed the reports coming in concerning the assault on Tempest Keep with a great deal of interest. I imagine our master had no notion of the challenge it would provide, or he would not have sent so few, and untrained. That you prevailed against all expectations represents the highest example of blood elf ability."

She fought the urge to look away. _Our master who consorts with demon lords?_

Perhaps something of her thoughts reached her prince, for his smile faded slightly. Turning away to a nearby table he picked up a fragile porcelain bowl filled with some type of fruit she'd never seen before. "I understand you are recently arrived. You must be weary and famished. I apologize for the urgency of my desire for an audience."

"An honor at any time," she murmured, but she was quick to accept the bowl and begin eating, as daintily as she could manage considering her hunger. The fruit was oddly tart, and it took her several mouthfuls before she realized that her lips, inner cheeks, and tongue were growing numb eating it. She stared down at the round greenish things uneasily. Were they native to this world? Who knew their effects? But surely they must be okay, for her prince was eating them.

Except she hadn't actually seen him eat one.

In spite of her hunger she primly set the bowl aside. "Shall I tell you of the expedition in detail, my Prince?"

He waved lazily. "In time. Would that I had more opit to share, but alas I fear you suffer from a greater hunger in any case." An odd gleam in those glowing eyes, and he withdrew a cut gem from a little pouch hanging off the side of the couch. Saire's breath caught, uneasiness turning to the first stirrings of alarm. The thing was flawlessly cut, as long as her hand though half the width, and it shone with the same green that glowed in the eyes of the elf reclining across from her.

A mana crystal. Such things had been common in Silvermoon, where the Sunwell had made infusing them easy. They levitated as the centerpieces of decorations, often in intricate patterns featuring dozens of them. Larger crystals glowed to provide light along streets or in public rooms. She hadn't seen an infused one in months.

But it seemed her prince had found a new well to draw from to infuse the crystals. A tainted well.

Her mind refused to accept such considerations, though. As soon as she saw it, felt the power of it like a gentle fog filling the room, the thirst rose within her, surging to the fore. The addiction that had prompted her to devour a dozen mana wyrms at the edge of the Bladed Mountains. The addiction that gnawed every moment within her, an ache that would never be filled.

Kael'thas lifted the crystal to his perfect full lips, drawing lightly upon the power within it. It flowed in thin tendrils into his mouth, and he shuddered slightly. "A cure," he whispered. "How long did we fear we would never find one? But now we have it."

Saire was still on the couch, still in her uncomfortable pose. A cure? No, this was as much a cure as scratching a mosquito bite was a cure for the itch. "Give to us by a man who counsels with Kil'jaeden," she murmured.

Her prince tore his eyes from the crystal to stare at her sharply. "Do not concern yourself with matters above you, nor spread rumors about such matters. Our masters loyalty is to his people, no one else."

_Bullshit._ But Saire could not take her eyes off the crystal. The power called to her, sang a song of deafening seduction. And she realized with horror that she didn't have the strength to refuse it. Not after watching Kael'thas breathe it in right in front of her.

With a soft, despairing moan she stretched out her hand. Kael'thas smiled at her, wagging his long elegant eyebrows, then took another breath of the corrupt power. And in his own excess he could not hide his arousal.

Saire stared at this evidence of the prince's lust with wide eyes. Some psychologists and philosophers suggested that every action performed by thinking beings was prompted by a desire for either violence or sex. Magic euphoria simply magnified those desires, while simultaneously stripping away inhibitions. So it was little surprise that every sensation within magic euphoria invariably strayed towards one of these, sometimes both at the same time.

And while her people were by no means strangers to brutality, it tended to flatter their notions of their own gentility that the violence be subtle, vengeance planned over long periods and with great care, far more devastating in the long run than a simple punch to the face or a kick to the crotch. Sex, on the other hand, was far more appealing and socially acceptable. The high elf civilization had held very few taboos in that regard, save those protecting the defenseless or unwilling. Again, that encroached upon violence and was frowned upon.

What that all meant was that parties where elves indulged in the abuse of magic often tended to devolve into orgies.

And Saire found that she was perfectly fine with that. She accepted the warm, glowing crystal in her hand, drew it up to her lips, and _breathed_. But unlike the opit there was no hesitance to her actions, and in her hand the crystal dimmed, then went dark.

Power surged through her, wild and exuberant, such that she wanted to leap up and dance, or find something to rub against. She was engulfed by ripples of pleasure alternating hot and cold throughout her body, and to her eyes green sparks began shooting from the objects around her.

"Sunwell's end," the prince breathed somewhere a million miles away. "You don't do things halfway, woman."

"More," she moaned. The couch beneath her brushed the skin of her hands like a lover's caress.

Soft, strong hands pried the crystal from her grip, but before she could do more than whimper at the loss another was in her hand, glowing strong. "Slowly, this time," the prince cautioned. "You'll kill yourself."

Saire took a small gasp of the crystal, and for a long while afterwards there was silence as she writhed to sensations no unaffected mind could describe.

"Velansar Redcrest believes you a traitor," Kael'thas finally said, what seemed hours later. "Your loyalty belonging solely to the human Nex-thanarak."

Saire knew she should be alarmed by this, particularly after previous pains suffered at the hands of her own people, but in the throes of magic euphoria it barely registered. She arched back against the couch until only her head and her hips touched fabric, tensing every muscle until they ached sweetly, and said nothing.

The prince stared at her with his glowing, oddly feverish eyes, and his gaze took a long, thorough path along her body before continuing. "But Redcrest's words come through Eldre'Theril Firedge. And your father, on the other hand, declares you loyal. Furthermore, he asserts that your apparent affection for the human is a mere ruse to draw information from him. A ruse begun at the behest of Theril himself."

Saire finally released her muscles, all at once, collapsing onto the heavenly soft padding. The ache of her muscles blazed to sudden pain at the release of tension, quickly falling off, and she gave a soft cry. The crystal was in her hand once more, and she lifted it to her lips and drew deeply. Pleasure blazing with its own pain tingled along her skin, and she wanted to follow those tingles with her fingers until they reached their ultimate conclusion. It was not propriety that stopped such wanton actions, but lassitude.

"Of course, oft what begins a ruse becomes truth, and I am hesitant to trust the words of a father concerning his only child. Particularly a treasure such as yourself."

Saire giggled, flushing at the compliment. From Kael'thas himself! "Do not fear paternal bonds where _he_ is concerned. He was quick to call me a traitor along with the others when Lokiv disappeared. If he says I can be trusted I probably can be."

Those brilliantly glowing green eyes were no longer on her face, and Saire followed their gaze down into her lap. Flushing, she slid her hands away from their subconscious activities to grip the cloth of the couch. By the Sunwell, it was soft! She momentarily forgot what was going on as she focused on that texture beneath her fingers, feeling every part of it distinctly at the same time in a way she'd never experienced before.

A soft scuffle drew her attention, and she gave a squeak of surprise in realizing Kael'thas was no longer lounging on his couch across from her, but was now mere feet away. Had he somehow blinked without her sensing it? It couldn't have been but an instant since last she'd been aware of him. "I'm glad to hear that," the prince whispered. "So much of our people's glory has been lost, Mistress Firedge. A pity indeed if we were to lose a mage of your knowledge and talents as well, to treachery no less."

Saire reached for the mana crystal, fingers fumbling over the couch, but only soft cloth met her grasp. She searched farther, making soft mewling sounds of confusion and distress. Then soft fingers were pressing the gem into her hand. She took it and breathed deep, sweetness bordering on pain. Oddly soft hands were caressing her cheek, and it took her a moment to realize they weren't her own. She looked up, lips parted slightly, to see that her prince had drawn still closer.

Even in her euphoric daze she couldn't help but exult. What elf girl hadn't dreamed of being in just this position? Or, for that matter, the position she soon hoped to be in. Her hands were moving of their own accord once more, fingers lightly tracing the smooth, soft skin of Kael'thas's forearm.

The Blood Prince leaned in, lips brushing her ear near the base. "Since your loyalty is unquestioned, there is a service you can do for the Sin'dorei. For me." She tried to make some response, hasty and unthinking agreement, only to realize the breath had whooshed out of her the moment his lips brushed her. "Men, particularly young men, are oft not so mercenary with their hearts as we. I would like you to continue your charade with the human known as Lokiv. He's on the verge of making a very, very stupid decision. One you might convince him to rethink."

Saire blinked, struggling to focus against the torrent of uncontrollable feelings within her. Magic, sweet and corrupt. Addiction, gnawing even after being so generously sated. Arousal, by-product of the magic in part, perhaps. "What?" she said, and her voice was oddly slurred.

Soft lips brushed her ear again. "While not so exquisite as you, dear Mistress Firedge, the human is also eminently useful. His loss would be . . . regrettable." Kael'thas drew away suddenly, and Saire almost cried out again at his absence. "What say we go have a chat with him, ever so brief, and then we can return and resume this delightful conversation." That was not a question, and in spite of herself Saire found she'd pushed up onto her feet and was now swaying, confused and off-balance.

Kael'thas smiled a perfect smile at her and turned away, towards the entrance of his rooms, beckoning for her to follow. Saire took a lurching step after him, then paused, again struggling with the haze. "What chat?" She thought she should know, but everything was so far away.

Her prince was beside her once more, one firm hand on her elbow. She saw the mana crystal in front of her face, and without thinking opened her mouth, prepared to draw breath.

Then stopped, waiting. She'd asked a question, and she wanted it answered.

"Nothing for you to become distressed over, Mistress Firedge. The human wishes to die rather than serve, as is his right. But surely mercy compels you to seek to persuade him to live, even if you feel nothing for him. You could save a man's life this night. Certainly, an odious, irritating man, but for all that deserving of continued existence."

The mana crystal hovered before her, tantalizing, and Saire wanted to scream, expel all her breath, then draw in the remaining power within that glittering gem. Her addiction surged within her, battered at her mind, at her body. For a brief, horrifying moment she felt herself begin to snap. Like that poor Corona'z Blaze swordsman Nothlais had, what seemed a lifetime ago. Snapped and became a Wretched within the blink of an eye, horrible and twisted, seeking to draw the very life energy from his own friend in his uncontrolled addiction.

Somehow she pushed the crystal away, averting her eyes. "I've had enough," she said, words slurring through numb lips.

Kael'thas shrugged and tossed the thing back onto the couch. "Very well." His hand was on her arm again, caressing, then sliding up it until her breath was coming in short, quick gasps at his touch. "Shall we go have our conversation with your human friend?"

She closed her eyes, seeing Lokiv's haunted gaze once more as if he stood before her. "I will talk to him, but I will manipulate him in nothing. His choices are his own to make. He's earned that, at least."

The sliding hand stopped. "Are you sure? Sometimes men make poor decisions, and it is up to their friends to guide them on the right path."

"Perhaps my father is wrong after all. Perhaps I do share some loyalty for the human. The loyalty of friendship, at least. I won't betray that. Not for Illidan, not even for you, my Prince."

Kael'thas sighed. "I suppose it's to be expected. Even the most coldhearted seductress feels something for the men she lets inside her. And you're yet too young and sweet to claim any particular experience in that field." Saire felt her head lolling, the unfamiliar demonic magic coursing through her with a sort of sick longing to feel it ever stronger. She barely heard what he was saying. He chuckled and released her arm, pacing into view in front of her. "Of course it goes both ways. No man can take a lover for so long and feel nothing for her, no matter how without feeling he may pretend to be. Especially not such a stunning woman as you, mistress Saire."

He moved forward, sliding one smooth finger along her cheek up to her ear, then down her neck to lightly trace her collarbone with a fingernail. Saire shuddered, staring up at him and fighting not to respond. Sun's grace, the man was more exquisite than any man had a right to be. And he knew it. Kael'thas smiled. "There must be something between you indeed, that you would betray your people for your feelings for this human."

Saire yanked her head back, gasping as another wave of unwanted corrupt magic flowed through her with all the force and euphoria of an orgasm. "Not feelings. Cold logic. And it was not I, nor the human for that matter, who betrayed my people."

Kael'thas moved in until his body was pressed against her, one knee between her legs, his lips tickling her ear. She trembled, fighting the onslaught of emotions and half wondering why she did. This was Kael'thas Sunstrider, Prince of Quel'thalas! Any woman would swoon at the mere thought of entering his rooms, sharing his amusements, being the subject of his affections. "The betrayal did not begin with the elves, did it? You were there in the dungeons of Dalaran with me, Mistress Saire. You shared a magic-sealed cell not far from that of my own mages. You heard them raping your sisters, tormenting and mocking us. I trust you haven't forgotten all that?"

"Not this human," Saire said through gritted teeth.

"I see." Kael'thas abruptly moved, taking a step away and clasping his hands at the small of his back. "But let us be reasonable. There is no reason to think you cannot be loyal to me and to the human both. I'm no stranger to split affections, and I'm certainly not jealous. Would you not try to convince the human to see reason?"

Saire shook her head, nearly falling over. "He comes here to die," she mumbled. "What could I say to that?"

"You could say you wish he would live, no matter the cost. You could suggest that it's not such a bad thing to serve the master."

"The master," Saire spat weakly at his feet, some of her lucidity returning as her anger blazed. "You mean Illidan, the servant of Kil'jaeden? Servant of the Burning Legion, whose minions burned our home and slaughtered our people? Who took Lady Sylvanas and tormented her and the other rangers until death took them, and then raised them up as monstrosities and set them to hunting us?"

For a moment the Prince's face flashed with ugly emotion, to match the fel green of his eyes. "The only master Illidan serves is vengeance. I serve the same master, and the same cause. As should you." Saire stubbornly kept her silence, and he sighed. "Well, it's a pity. I've always felt that the death of a beautiful woman is a tragic waste, no matter the reason. But if you won't aid us in convincing the human one way, you'll aid us another."

He motioned, and with a start Saire heard the padding of booted feet on the rugs behind her. Strong hands grabbed at her as the two Spell Breakers which guarded the room's entrance caught her under her arms and lifted her. She was too overwhelmed by the magic euphoria to even try to struggle. "Escort mistress Saire to Lord Illidan's throne room. The master will have a use for her shortly."

Saire felt herself being carried away, the prince receding before her eyes. "I guess we won't be continuing this conversation now," she said, struggling to inject as much sarcasm as she could into that statement with a tongue that felt big as a pillow.

The Blood Prince smiled another perfect smile, a picture of masculine beauty before her eyes. "We never would have, Mistress Firedge. An elf who'd screw a human is too slutty even by my standards."

. . . . .

"What outcome do you expect from this?" Nex demanded. "For that matter, what outcome do you think _I _expect from this? As far as I'm concerned it can only end one way."

Stormrage remained on his throne, meditating in motionless silence. After a moment spent glaring at the motionless form Nex turned away. "Gods damn," he snarled.

His turn had him facing the doors to the demonic night elf's throne room just as they creaked and split apart, opening outward. Two burly blood elves strode into the room, easily carrying a slight woman in a fine silken white robe trimmed with gold between them. Her head was slumped onto her chest, coppery hair spilling over to hide her features, but Nex felt his heart lurch even so.

Stormrage finally stirred, lifting his head to look at the two guards and the woman they escorted, a displeased expression on his chiseled features. "What is this?"

The lefthand guard saluted. "Compliments of Prince Kael'thas, Lord Illidan."

"Is your prince in the habit of sending me harlots, now? And at such inopportune times?"

The Spell Breakers exchanged an uncertain glance. "Er, he said you would have a use for her shortly." A fist gauntleted in red steel closed on the woman's coppery hair, jerking her head upward to reveal her face, and Nex fought back a groan and failed.

Roughly jerked about between the two elves, Saire Firedge groaned as well.


	26. Free at Last

Hey guys. Again apologies for the delay. Did a lot of family stuff for 4th of July weekend. Not sure when I'll get around to starting Demon Hunter: Northrend, but for the moment it'll probably be on the back burner as I work on other projects. I'll post a sneak peek sometime soon, though.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Free At Last

Her eyes burned with green fire, the fel power of demonic magic, and her face was slack in the ecstasy of feeding upon such a generous font. She barely seemed to recognize him, her eyes burning into his blankly. Nex couldn't hold her gaze for long before looking away.

In his mind, that blank empty place where he put all his emotions found itself sorely tested. Seeing her here, knowing what use she was going to be put to. His emotions surged like a scream clawing its way free. A scream that was half anguish, half mirth at how the world seemed determined to twist every knife of humanity into his empty soul. And yet somehow that empty place swallowed this, too, so he could keep his face blank. So he could keep his feet firmly planted. And he returned his steady gaze once more to his former master.

Oh, Saire. He'd almost thought she deserved better than this.

"The human's lover," one of the Spell Breakers holding her said in answer to Stormrage's question.

"Indeed?" Stormrage glanced over at Nex, and whatever was in his expression must have confirmed it. "Kael'thas Sunstrider. My strong Right Hand. He anticipates my desires before I am even aware of them. Would that all my servants were so." Nex made no reply. Stormrage bared his teeth at the guards in what might have been a smile. "I am pleased with your Prince. Remain here with her, for I will likely have use for you soon." Once those words were spoken Stormrage once again turned his eyes to Nex.

"You're running out of whips to lash me with," Nex said in answer to that silent regard.

"Oh?"

"First you threatened me with pain. Then, when pain no longer swayed me, with death. Then, when even that could not cow me, with the deaths of innocents. Each time a greater atrocity for me to commit, each time more pressure when I balked. But this time there is no atrocity, and I will not be a hostage to anyone's death. Kill whoever you like, my service to you is done."

"Then you care nothing for this woman I could kill before your eyes?" At these words the Spell Breaker to the left lifted his warglaive to rest its point against Saire's throat.

Nex showed his teeth. "There comes a time when every oppressor makes a mistake. They stack the burden too high, they make the chains too tight. And at last the slaves simply slump to the ground, no longer caring enough to get up for any reason. They lay and wait for death to take them."

For a moment Stormrage was still, and then he motioned to the Spell Breaker holding the tip of his glaive to Saire's delicate throat. The man hesitated, then lifted the weapon away. "Leave us. Take the female with you, and see her housed as a guest. She is not to be harmed in any way."

Nex couldn't hide his surprise as he watched the two elves comply. "Withdrawing your threat so easily, Stormrage? A weak bargaining tactic."

"It was never my threat. Kael'thas, for all his strengths, is at times . . . overzealous." Stormrage watched him, the flames in his eyes burning down until they could scarce be seen. Then he sighed. "You force me to an action I loathe taking more than any other. You should be proud you managed it."

A sigh escaped his own lips, perhaps one of relief. "Then you'll finally agree to kill me?"

Stormrage showed his own canines, far longer and more imposing than Nex's. "Is death a mercy you deserve? No, human. I offer you freedom."

. . . . .

"Is that a joke?"

"There is nothing funny about me losing a useful servant. But I know what it is to be imprisoned without any hope of escape, even in death. If you so wish to be free then free you shall be."

Nex had taken a step back before he even realized it. "I don't believe you. You're not the sort to look away after the insults I've offered you. Your pride wouldn't allow it."

"Pride is a profoundly stupid emotion, human. It leads fools into wasteful and thoughtless acts. You should know this as well as any, for you stayed your hand against the blood elves who rebelled against your command."

"Yes, setting aside pride is all well and good when there's a benefit. Yet you seem to spend all your time informing me of my own uselessness. What's in it for you if you just let me go?"

Stormrage hopped up onto one of the armrests and crouched atop it like an obscene gargoyle. "Oh, I wouldn't just be letting you go. You'd have to earn your freedom."

Nex smiled mirthlessly. "Let me guess. You'll free me once your newfound campaign against the Lich King is done." No response. "Didn't you say I'd make a terrible soldier?"

"Terrible soldier or no, you must look at what I have at my disposal. A few thousand blood elves and naga. I could bring demons and fel orcs as well, but then I would be leaving Outland empty of my forces, ripe to be plucked by any who so desire.

"A few thousand troops, human. Against the Scourge. The force that in its fledgling stage devastated Lordaeron, Dalaran, and Quel'thalas. Three of the most powerful of the Eastern Kingdoms, destroyed with ease. And that only as a beginning.

"And you ask why I am reluctant to destroy a tool that's already proven so useful? Against what I now face, power that has not even begun to be tested, and has devoured the mightiest forces of Azeroth? I cannot afford to waste any resource."

Nex looked away. "All right, understandable. But still you put an unseemly amount of effort in retaining me, even going so far as to threaten to destroy a skilled mage should I continue to balk. You yourself have said I am all but worthless as a soldier, and given my sad record as a commander I am no more attractive there."

"Your value, human, lies in the very same use I have oft put you to in the past."

Nex smiled grimly. "Ah."

"Yes. You remain the sole human in my service. And while you are not overly inspiring nor particularly heroic you are better suited to dealing with your kind than am I or any of my other servants. Particularly in the wake of the irrational rash of racial bigotry that has swept your kind."

"So I am once again asked to betray those who resemble me?"

Green light flared. "You toy with a word I despise, human. The Scourge targeted humanity first, and exists first and foremost to destroy humanity. Is it betrayal to lead the heroes of your kind in eliminating that threat?"

"Normally I would say no, but I know who it is I serve. Who I would be asking humans to serve. Those chains lie heavy around the neck, and only grow heavier."

A long pause. "Then you and whatever forces you bring to Northrend will serve as, shall we say, allies. There will be no compulsion upon them to fight, save the sole compulsion that your freedom comes at the battle's victory."

Nex laughed. "So if I was able to find any soldiers to undertake such a suicidal task, I would have to find my own explanations for why they should serve me, with no help from you."

"Yes. Perhaps it will give you some insight into the endless irritation you've caused me."

Nex hesitated. He'd come into this room fully prepared to die. This was the last thing he'd expected.

Freedom. Not enough to erase the horrors of service to Stormrage, but at the very least an escape from those horrors. "I'm hesitant to trust your word, Stormrage. You've proven in the past the ability to employ unseen loopholes."

"The primary loophole in my promises was time. A small thing for an immortal such as myself, but I'd forgotten how impatient your young race can be. Shall I make new oaths?"

"They would have to be damn convincing ones."

Another baring of Stormrage's teeth. "Fine. Then I will give you twelve oaths."

In spite of himself Nex sucked in his breath at that. Of all things demons were reluctant to do, binding themselves to a master with twelve full oaths, each rephrased and specifically worded to cover a certain area of loopholes, was the one they most feared. Some demons preferred death of their corporeal form and a return to the Nether over swearing the twelve oaths, those for whom such a thing was an option. Even for lesser demons for whom death was final they picked that over binding themselves so irreconcilably to a master.

If demons, in all their eternal war against existence, had never yet found a way out of such oaths, it was pretty damned certain there was none. But surprisingly his suspicion didn't wane, for Stormrage had offered it too easily.

"Then swear, with twelve oaths, that after our push for the Frozen Throne, whether it be a success our a failure, my service to you ends. Not only that, but you free me from the Illidari stone and return to me whatever it was you took when forming the link between us. And finally, you swear that at the end of my service to you I am free to go, and you will not try to hinder or slay me."

Stormrage laughed, a somewhat unpleasant sound. "I would advise you to be certain that you have every stipulation you wish for. It wouldn't do to leave out something you're going to need, twelve oaths or no."

"Then I will." Nex turned away. "I will be back to secure your oaths, and to hear the details of this campaign. For the moment I've been in your presence for as long as I can stand."

He'd only taken a few steps before Stormrage's voice called him back. "One final thing, human." Nex turned, arching an eyebrow. "A condition of my own, if you will."

"Oh?"

"I wish for you to be as useful to me on this campaign. There is a power available to you that you've not yet taken advantage of."

Nex scowled. "If you're speaking of demonic metamorphosis you can-"

"I am not speaking of that. You are not prepared for that ultimate expression of a demon hunter's power. In fact, you are not even a true demon hunter as yet." He laughed. "Oh, certainly, you may call yourself one, and even harbor some notions of spending your life slaying demons. But it's a pathetic mockery to my eyes. It is time for your formal initiation into that calling."

Nex quirked his lips. Pathetic mockery to his eyes. He doubted that was a careless phrase. "I have some idea of what you're demanding, Stormrage."

"I'm sure you do." The demonic night elf reached back behind his head, long taloned fingers working at the knotted black cloth. It took almost a minute, likely because that blindfold hadn't been removed in a long, long while. But finally it fell away, and Nex was treated to the two empty pits ravaged by demonic fire, blazing painfully now that a cloth no longer hid them. The skin around the sockets was scarred as if the skin had melted and cooled layer after layer, and even as he watched a tear of melted skin trickled down the dark-skinned cheek. The inside of the bandage with filthy with other such caught tears.

"Your second sight remains nascent, human. It is time to put out your own eyes."

. . . . .

Nex trailed in his master's wake, led deeper and deeper down into the temple. Whatever vestiges of consecration to the Light that remained within the Black Temple faded the deeper they went, until they left the elegantly carved halls of draenei worship and entered tunnels hewn by demonic hands.

His master. Yes, for a little longer, now. Incredible how hope could make a slave continue to stumble forward as the shackles pulled ever tighter.

There was a certain inevitability to all this, he was sure, and one that passed beyond the decisions made by him or even by Stormrage himself. He hesitated to call it fate or destiny. Cosmic irony seemed more apt.

There was nothing new about those gifted with second sight putting out their eyes. Stormrage had done so in service to the Burning Legion over ten thousand years ago. Blind seers were so common as to be almost cliché, and for a reason. Drek'thar, the great orc shaman, was a famous example of this.

Power came with sacrifice. Deprivation of one sense heightened the others. Sight kept one grounded in the world of things seen, keeping the unseen world at bay, fuzzy and indistinct. Many ghosts could not be detected by any sense, and there were far less benign things that so hid, things that only became a danger when one became aware of them.

Blind seers were a cliché, perhaps. But a less well known truth, kept hidden from the common people by mystics keen to preserve their image of infallibility, was that many with the second sight who put out their eyes didn't live long afterwards.

Finally he was led into a large chamber with a perfectly flat, smooth floor of polished obsidian. The walls, too, were smooth and flat, creating a perfectly geometrical dome over the floor. Even the entrance through which they'd come was fitted with a door so perfectly cut and placed that when it shut its lines fit in with the endless array of demonic glyphs and wards covering floor and dome. As soon as the Stormrage shut the door behind him the latent power of the room jumped higher, so high that he could feel it thrumming through the air and rushing through the glyphs, permeating the stone around him.

He didn't even need to read the glyphs to know what this was. "How is this possible?" he demanded. "We're not a mile from a holy site."

Stormrage bared his teeth in something that might actually have been a smile for once. "The power of the destruction is greater than the power of creation or preservation. Ask any enlightened culture obliterated by savages waving sticks."

A convenient answer, but not one that explained how it was possible a shrine to the Dark Titan had been created here. Not only created, but consecrated; he could feel the power of Sargeras in the energy thrumming around him.

"To the center, human."

Nex calmly strode across the chamber, realizing with surprise that it was far bigger than he'd at first thought. The circle of glyphs that enclosed the very center of the changer was large enough to accommodate a pit lord. Perhaps even a creature as large as Kil'jaeden.

"You've not activated your second sight, human. Fear, or wisdom?"

Nex started, realizing that his second sight had been firmly walled away since he'd first seen Kil'jaeden. As if he feared to see with it after such a horror. And standing in a consecrated shrine to Sargeras perhaps it was a good thing he was without it. "Luck."

Stormrage's breath hissed surprisingly loud in the chamber in constrained laughter. "Fear, wisdom, luck, even intent. None of it will help you when you step into the circle. Are you ready?"

Nex nodded. If putting out ones eyes was dangerous in a shamanic or seer's ritual, doing so in this place was perilous. Perhaps he'd get his wish of dying after all.

He stepped into the circle.

Immediately the power of the room found a focal point, and every single muscle in his body tensed simultaneously, as if he'd been struck by lightning. Though he was paralyzed by the power it had caught him up, and he found himself dragged forward to the very center of the circle. Against his will his second sight burgeoned, and he saw that the room was not some closed chamber buried deep inside a fragment of a destroyed world, but part of something far larger.

_Many think the Dark Lord of Destruction perished when Aegwynn cast down his avatar in Northrend._ He did not know if that was Stormrage's voice, his own mind, or some revelation of this place. _But how does one destroy a titan? How does one destroy a titan whose power makes all the Pantheon quake?_

For a moment Nex was struck with the terrible notion that the essence of Sargeras, released from physical form, had dissipated into the Nether and joined with something far more primal, dark, and terrible, until only its disinterest kept it from snuffing out all existence like a candle. And in this place he felt as if all that vast presence loomed over him, looking down with the idle regard one gives an ant before crushing it underfoot.

Then more immediate concerns presented themselves, as the Nether all around him became alive with demonic creatures like nothing he'd ever encountered. Things so alien to reality that perceiving them tore at his mind like slivers of nova power, of absolute cold.

_Dimensius the All-Devouring himself. Perhaps it's no coincidence the Ethereum has come here._

Nex shook his head, blinking useless eyes and struggling to retreat from this.

_This is not as it was for me, human. The Burning Legion does not sanction this. Quickly, before they overpower me, your eyes!_

Nex reached formless hands up to a nonexistent head, and as he'd done for his Eye of Kilrogg spell he slipped thumb and forefinger in to either side and pried both eyes free. There was no pain, or more accurate to say the agony of being caught up in the power around him drowned out anything so pathetic as plucking out his own eyes. He started to place them in his pockets, intending to save them. At the very least for the Eye of Kilrogg, and why not have them for other purposes as well? Perhaps to even undo this all, if such a thing was possible?

_No, fool! This is not some lending, some barter. You take a step off the brink, and no flailing will lift you up once more. Destroy them now, completely!_

Nex sucked a breath into lungs that weren't there and closed his hands about his eyes, feeling them burst horribly in his grip. Power surged through him, flaring into his hands, immolating his eyes and destroying them utterly.

And then he was on his knees, screaming, and he was watching himself from a distance as black fire burned its way into his sockets.

Had he ever felt such pain? Did such pain even exist?

Yes, it did. In fact it could be even worse, for with a jolt that knocked the breath out of him he was flung back into that kneeling body, and he felt the pain firsthand.

His scream became wordless, then soundless as his lungs emptied of all air but the scream persisted.

What could have been moments or an eternity later he found himself huddled on the ground outside the door to the chamber. He could perceive every single crack, every flaw, within the stone around him. He could see how he could exploit those cracks and flaws to bring this entire mountain of rock down on his head. And then his second sight exploded outward, inward, and he could see every element making up the stone, how they all linked together and the forces that made them link together. He could see the Nether between the elements, how the smaller a scale one looked upon, the smaller the area, the greater the energy could be found within it, until he saw a point of zero distance and infinite energy. He almost felt he could reach out and grasp it.

And then his second sight fled, not all the way but into something like sight, except sight that saw in 360 degrees, that saw through the barriers of rock. That sensed the slightest fluctuations of energy around him. He could see Stormrage standing behind him, at the entrance to the chamber, and for the first time saw the full extent of his master's power, in a way he'd never imagined before. He could see how that power had been tested by whatever evils the demonic night elf had protected him from within that chamber. Perhaps was still protecting him from, though at the moment his second sight was not seeing deeply enough to make him aware of it.

Knowledge was power, and second sight was like pure knowledge. He could feel the black fire flowing from his eyes, bathing his face in flames. Ethereal flames with no heat, unlike the green furnaces that roared in his master's eyes.

"Your eyes burn with fire no mortal vision can see, human. Suitable for a sneak such as yourself."

Nex opened his mouth to speak, and his vision seemed to shatter. To double, to quadruple, until he saw a dozen of everything and every image pained his head with the sheer overwhelming amount of information it offered. He fled once more, withdrawing his second sight to what his mind could manage, only a few feet in any direction for the moment.

Stormrage was gone.

He could have easily given the exact distance between himself and the door to the chamber. Between any part of his body and the door to the chamber. He could have told the mass of that door, the volume, the area of its entire surface. But though his sight had been withdrawn into only a few feet he was now seeing such a vast intricacy of detail within that space that once again his mind rebelled.

He had no idea how long it took him to rein his second sight in to something his mind could manage. There was a momentary temptation to wall it off completely once more, but that thought brought on an immediate surge of terror, as for the first time he contemplated being truly blind. Not simply the blindness of mortal eyes seeing into absolute dark, but the blindness of no sight whatsoever.

Except he was already blind, in a way. He knew the colors of the stone around him, his own clothes, his own skin and hair, the color of the things inside of him and . . . his mind shied away once more. He knew the colors, but he couldn't _see_ them. As if they'd ceased to exist and had become mere concepts. He could see the cross-stitch weaving of his clothes, how tight the thread count, but he didn't know if such tight weaving made it look fine. As if fashion, ever a concept, had now become something even less. So things which were seen became mere concepts, and the concepts attached to things seen disappeared entirely.

What else would do the same, to his eyes? Beauty? Sunlight? Shadow? What of the emotions attached to them?

Like the pressure of such complete sight on his mind, he shied away from these thoughts as well. Somehow he managed to push to his feet and stagger up the tunnel, presumably after his master. And yes, he could now see burning footsteps leading down the tunnel and up it, from coming and going. Green flames, his master's power great enough to mark the stone he walked on, though he hadn't been able to see it before.

Nex stopped, ran a hand over his empty sockets and felt nothing of the black fires it passed through. He would need a blindfold, now; for those unable to see the black fire those empty sockets would be a horrific sight. Endlessly horrific. He could use a mere rag, look like just another blind cripple. Or he could find some fine black cloth and emulate his master.

He laughed raggedly, barely aware of how he covered both hands with his eyes as he continued on, his mind constantly warring between seeing far and seeing not far enough, seeing too many details and seeing too few. And all the while he wasn't _seeing_ at all, merely perceiving.

Initiated into the ranks of the demon hunters. Or, since it was apparently a formal body and not just a bunch of fools determined to slay demons, he supposed that would be capitalized. A title.

Demon Hunter.

_This marks the end of Book Two of the Demon Hunter series: Outland. In Book Three, Northrend, Nex leads an army of irregulars into the heart of the frozen continent of Northrend, lured by the promise of freedom. But is that freedom simply a trick, like so many others he's suffered in his master's service? And facing the might of the Frozen Throne, would he even live to taste it?_


	27. Epilogue

Epilogue

A New Campaign

Saire was just about becoming lucid enough to feel the bruise forming along her side. The Spell Breaker hadn't been particularly rough, but even the most disciplined man might be wroth when a woman completely in the grip of magic euphoria vomited all over his shiny red armor.

It hurt like hell, enough so that she was just glad she hadn't been sober enough to feel his booted foot connecting. There was also a tenderness to her jaw, and to her embarrassment she was sopping wet between the legs, although she didn't remember pleasuring herself.

She must have had a good time, horrible as she felt at the moment.

With a soft groan she lifted her head out of another pool of her own sick, looking around with bleary eyes. Shiny steel bars created a web across her vision, carved with arcane runes for keeping a mage contained. Not particularly good ones, but that might explain why three of the bars at the edge of her vision were slagged to molten ruin. She didn't recall casting any spells either, but when she checked her mana reserves she saw that she was at roughly three-quarters capacity. Given all the demonic energy she'd consumed last, ah, whenever it had been, she was surprised it wasn't full.

In the bar directly in front of her eyes she saw two green points glowing back, and she looked away in shame, only to see them reflected in another shiny surface, queerly distorted by the round steel. Fel energy, glowing in her eyes, the mark of the energy she'd consumed. The mark of a fallen mage.

Oridl would be so ashamed of her. Or maybe not, when he learned what she got up to when the euphoria had her.

She forced her eyes to focus beyond those glowing points, out of her cage. What she saw terrified her.

They'd put her in the refugee camp. The _Wretched_ refugee camp, where all those pathetic creatures who'd succumbed to mana addiction had gathered. Most wandered piteously, crying for mana, any mana, while others thrashed at the bonds which held them, preventing them from draining the life force of those around them or trying to break free of containment. A fence of sharpened sticks surrounded the camp, with a pit on either side with more stakes lining their bottoms. A few bored guards stood beyond that fence, making sure none of their Wretched charges got unruly.

Saire pulled herself into a ball in the center of the cage, unable to prevent a soft whimper. By the gods, they'd caged her, a mage, in a camp full of mana suckers! And even worse her spells were dampened in the midst of these damn runes so she couldn't even protect herself. Were they trying to kill her?

But no. If they wanted to kill her they could just do it outright. Who was there to stop her? And in fact maybe they _had _tried to do it outright. She had a vague memory of a warglaive to her throat. A large hall, a massive throne, with a shadow bat-like shape perched . . . atop . . .

"Lokiv," she breathed, and suddenly she remembered it all, magic euphoria be damned.

There'd been something Illidan wanted from the human. Some task, some service. Lokiv had been as cold as ice. She'd been unable to truly form a coherent thought at the time, but she remembered staring into his dull brown eyes as the glaive was pressed to her throat. Not so much as a twitch. And then he'd agreed to do what was demanded, and she'd been taken away.

Or wait, no. He _hadn't_. He'd been willing to let her die, but for some reason she was still alive. Kael'thas. Her prince. He'd told his guards to kill her if Lokiv didn't cooperate, but it hadn't been the human that saved her life but Illidan, waving her away and calling the Blood Prince of the elves reckless and hasty.

Her prince. He'd offered to be her lover, hadn't he? But then he'd called her human leavings and used her as a pawn, a sacrifice. She shouldn't have been surprised, she shouldn't have even cared. She knew the bitter hatred that afflicted her people, the callous disregard that told them all their suffering made anything they did right and just. She had to fight such selfish motives constantly. No, there was no reason to be surprised that her prince had stuffed her with fel magics then sent her off to die.

But she was. Devastated, even. Soldiers could be common thugs, even captains, but she'd held Kael'thas Sunstrider, son of Anasterian Sunstrider, to a higher standard. A hero's pedestal where he glowed, bright and beautiful and perfect, honorable and merciful and wise.

He had betrayed her, but she couldn't hate him for his imperfections. After all, she had allowed herself to feel something for a man willing to let her die on a whim, so she was in no position to judge.

Soft murmuring jerked her head around until her muscles protested painfully, twisting her shoulders until she could look directly behind her, and she saw why she was in a camp of Wretched and still alive.

Two Spell Breakers stood beside her cage, chatting with an older elf in the robes of a mage, perhaps even an archmage by their fineness. She recognized him from somewhere, she thought, but it wasn't until he turned those cold, disdainful eyes upon her that she remembered where. He'd been one of the mages on ridge with her during that battle with the night elves. The one who'd had plenty of criticisms to offer about her technique. Jalaris Brighteyes, she thought his name was.

His eyes were deep, deep green, the green of a shaded glade in Tirisfal, but not because they glowed with fel energy. He had not a sign of that vile magic upon him.

"Ah, the lady has stopped frigging herself in a pool of her own sick long enough to grace us with her attention," he said in a cool voice.

Saire flushed with shame. "I demand you release me and allow me to bathe and don new robes."

The mage's frown deepened. "After you soiled the garments our Prince so generously gifted you with? Such arrogance is unbecoming in a deserter and traitor."

The unfairness of that claim nearly took her breath away. "Are you mad? I've just come off a campaign that captured our people the greatest prize on Outland. As an irregular, I might add. How can I desert an army I'm not part of?"

Jalaris sniffed. "I am to take your word over the word of Lieutenant Velansar Redcrest? Over Prince Kael'thas himself?"

Saire frowned, confused. Had Velansar been demoted, and after a successful campaign? But no, as she recalled it was Lokiv who set his rank to captain. In the blood elf army he'd been a lieutenant. "Velansar and I disagreed about many things, and our enmity was mostly on his part. As for Prince Kael'thas I do not know what I've done to offend him. I would hope you would at least hear my words before condemning me. As a fellow practitioner of the arcane arts I deserve that much."

"We'll see what you deserve, mage." But Jalaris did not seem quite as hostile. He motioned to the two Spell Breakers and both moved out of earshot, surprisingly quiet in their heavy armor. After they were gone he looked her over carefully obviously not liking what he see. A trumpet blared in the distance, liquid and ethereal, suggesting it was a naga signal. "Do you hear that?" he asked after it quieted.

"What of it?"

"It's a call to war. The naga are already on the march, Lady Vashj ordered to return to Nazjatar and request more troops for the cause."

"War?" she asked, surprised. Hadn't they already won every necessary victory on this miserable little cluster of continents?

"Illidan Stormrage has decided to embark upon a new campaign. A major one. Prince Kael'thas has been directing his officers to, shall we say, _insistently_ recruit all civilians and refugees into our forces. Even your "irregulars" will be inducted into the army under Redcrest's command, and his rank has been elevated to undercaptain. He's flying Tempest Keep and its satellites here as swiftly as he can manage."

"How nice for him," she said, unable to keep the condescension from her tone.

The mage ignored it. "Redcrest had little good to say about you, but even he admitted you are a skilled mage, vicious in battle. It seems that all you are lacking is discipline and a proper understanding of your own place. Unsurprising, considering you were the only worthy person in a backwater town in western Quel'thalas. Aside from your father, naturally, who makes up for lack of potential with a decent amount of experience."

"My father could freeze your balls off before you knew it was cold."

He scowled, but didn't answer the sally. "Which isn't to say this pleases me. Arrogant, willful children are just the sort of people I don't want under my command. Unfortunately Kael'thas is insistent that this campaign will strain the limits of our already tattered army, and he has expressed a desire to see his mage forces bolstered by any means necessary. We've already begun recruiting apprentices, but adepts are too valuable to waste. Even if they're traitors."

"I'm no traitor."

"Irrelevant. I'll give you no opportunity at treachery. You will be part of the Prince's core unit of mages, and our eyes will be upon you." Jalaris turned away, motioning for the Spell Breakers. "Let her out. See her cleaned and taken to the second floor of the Temple. Quarters will be arranged for her until it's time to depart."

As Saire was forcibly pulled from the cage and ushered along she realized she hadn't asked who their enemy was or what they were fighting about. She considered asking these two Spell Breakers concerning it, but one's armor was a bit streaked, as if hastily cleaned, and neither one seemed particularly friendly. She also considered asking about Lokiv, but it didn't take much wit to imagine the response her asking after a disgraced human would engender. And she had enough concerns anyway.

Besides, when all was said and done what did she care? She hadn't even had a chance to ask him to help Hiezal on the Exodar, and now realized it was just a fool's hope he could anyway.

No, the only thing she'd ever had from associating with him was humiliation, contempt, and the hatred of her own people. He could burn for all she cared.

In fact, she'd be glad to provide the flames.

. . . . .

Stormrage's oaths rang in his ears. Twelve carefully considered and prepared statements simultaneously interweaving in a discordance where semantics clashed to form a perfect meaning.

He could feel the weight of them inside him, in that place where the Illidari stone and the power it represented waited. He couldn't imagine any creature breaking such a noose of sworn word mingled with demonic binding, not even Stormrage. They bound him as tightly as they bound Nex himself, for now.

Freedom. An odd taste in his mouth, that word. Had he ever spoken it? Had he ever enjoyed it? Under Lynda the Demonologist's thrall he'd been a slave in truth, and at her death had enslaved himself with his determination to take vengeance on the dreadlord that slew her. No sooner had he managed that than Stormrage appeared with new chains.

What would it be like, to go where he wished and do as he like? Except where would he go, and what did he even desire? Freedom looked at that way seemed blank and purposeless, as frightening as it was enticing.

No. Better to save such considerations for when he actually had it, assuming he ever would. It would come in time, and all he had to do to find it was destroy a puppet created by Kil'jaeden himself who had the power to dominate the living and enslave the dead, and had already crushed several great kingdoms to dust.

Easy.

This place was dark, alternating shadows, flames, and bluish-white light. When the draenei held it the Light had been called upon here in mighty imbuing spells. During the occupation of Magtheridon the Light had fled, and fel flames had raged in every space, corrupting the purity that had been there before. Now the elves worked it, who had neither interest nor skill in demonic artificing and had abandoned the Light when their Sunwell was destroyed. Instead more normal flames burned, tinted by demonic corruption but that taint suppressed as best as could be managed. It would mar any work produced here, but in ways so minute the elves would not see it unless they lived thousands of years to see the taint spread.

Arcane energy imbued the weapons, rather than holy or demonic.

Nex walked through the armory of the Black Temple, head bowed and empty sockets pointed towards the ground. He no longer needed to know the history of this place to ascertain its secrets. He could see the holy Light lingering with willful stubbornness in various nooks and crannies. He could see the miasmic stink of demonic corruption and shadow magics washing over everything. He could see the weak veneer of arcane magics struggling to keep that corruption contained. He could even see the chemical process of logs from Terrokar forest being consumed in the forges, billows of air fresh with Oxygen blasting into the heart of the flames and spitting out smoke and Carbon leavings as the forges roared hotter.

He could see the sweat forming in the glands of the elves who worked the metal atop the anvils, cursing as they struggled to bend adamantite and khorium-unfamiliar and unbelievably durable-to their will. He could see how the metal resisted stubbornly; khorium required magic to work it properly, which is why the draenei had so favored it for their Lightforged swords and hammers and intricate guns. Adamantite was just a bitch, no matter how one looked at it. And to create hardened adamantite was beyond these smiths, who had been masters of all Azerothian metals but were now as bad as apprentices. The work they produced was shoddy and misshapen, and Nex could almost see Kael'thas grinding his teeth at their consistent failures. They would find few elements on this world aside from those two that weren't corrupted by the fel energies which had torn it apart, and that meant work with these elements they must.

Nex smiled.

Off to one side the massive piles of ingots and bars glowed poisonous green, out of the way of the working elves. Fel iron. The material the demons had worked for their weapons. He could see the corruption steeping it, see the invisible energy it radiated that gradually shredded everything around it, whether it be stone, wood, or living flesh. It was plentiful in Outland, but not even the elves were reckless enough to use it, and he approved of their caution; it might be that Stormrage could show them the working of metals steeped in demonic magics, assuming the corrupted night elf had such arts, but Nex himself had no knowledge of working it.

He could protect himself from its influence, of course, and if he could find someone able to work it he could aid in creating a more stable form that would not be harmful to its wielders. He might even be able to use the latent energy to enchant the created items.

With undead slaying, of course.

"Oy, what the hell do you think you're doing down here? This area is restricted to the smiths under Lord Vandalin."

Nex turned, lowering the hood of his new brown cloak, and the brawny elf smith who'd spoken recoiled at seeing his empty, ravaged sockets staring back. Obviously the elf couldn't see the black flames burning in those sockets, or he might have screamed. The smith had been working the nearest space, with a twisted bit of adamantite that might serve for a dagger pressed against the anvil with a pair of tongs.

To his surprise he recognized this elf. It was the same smith who had worked the Lightforged armor of Puros Lightfinder into the gray, dull suit he'd worn for weeks, which was now resting inside his dimensional space with his other possessions. The elf's hostility indicated his resilience had eradicated all the mental compulsions Nex had laid upon him previously, which was no surprise considering how many weeks it had been. It meant the elf would be resistant to further intrusions.

Luckily such was unnecessary. Nex drew out his Illidari stone and shoved it in the smith's face. "Recognize this?"

The elf paled slightly. "You."

Nex showed his teeth. "Lokiv. What is your name, smith?"

"Sandiv." The answer was reluctant.

"And do you know the working of iron, Sandiv?"

Eyes glowing with their own fel green energy, siphoned from demonic sources, glared at him coolly. "Is that some joke, human?"

"No." Nex walked over to a stack of bars piled higher than his head, resting his hand against them. His demon skin protected him from the fel iron, and he ran his fingers down the foot-long length of one. "If you can work iron, you can work fel iron."

Sandiv paled further. "I'll not touch that filth. Would you see me dead?"

Nex pulled one of the bars from the stack, unbalancing the rest and sending them clattering to the stone floor in a tide of fel green. He didn't care; he'd be using them all. With the bar in hand he walked over to an empty forge and closed his eyes, concentrating. Hurling dark fire was a simple thing, keeping it in one place constrained to a specific temperature was another. A thousand degrees should do it. He felt the fel iron heating in his hand, growing painfully warm, but rather than seek tongs or gloves he simply put more energy into protecting his hand. He could stand to be a bit wasteful on the first attempt; likely he'd be at this a while, and it would be exhausting no matter how he managed it.

The elf smith swore softly as the iron glowed a brighter green. It took a few minutes to heat it to the proper temperature, watching with his second sight until he had what he wanted, but Nex was wary of putting heat directly into the metal, even with his second sight guiding him. Finally he judged it suitable and walked over to Sandiv's anvil, shoving the adamantite mess to the ground. He slammed the bar down on the anvil and gestured. "I'm not asking you to touch it. Just hit it with your hammer."

The elf looked at the bar as he would a poisonous snake. "Hit it into what? What exactly do you wish me to make?"

Nex smiled again, noting the way the elf's eyes darted down to his long canines, up to his empty sockets, then away. "Simple. I just want you to pound both ends into razor points, tapering from the center. Five thousand times."

His satisfaction grew as he saw the man's incredulous stare. Likely the man was wondering what he could possibly do with five thousand bars of fel iron sharpened on both ends, or how he'd even manage to carry so many. He didn't know Nex had a four foot cube of space out in the nether, and could probably even hold more without filling it to capacity. He'd have to retrieve the dimensional pocket portal and his other possessions from Saire, of course, but that shouldn't be a problem.

The smith guided him in holding it correctly, then tentatively struck the end with his hammer. "Fast and sure, smith. I don't have the time or energy to waste while you feel it out or dawdle. If you waste my time in this I'll make you regret it."

Sandiv's incredulous stare sharpened. "_Your _time? Do you have any idea how long it takes to work five thousand bars of iron? Even into something so simple as double points? Especially tapering smoothly from the center!"

"Then you'd best get to it."

The smith muttered a low but fervent curse under his breath, so quietly that Nex didn't hear it, only saw it. Then the elf went to work with a will, not hurried but swift and sure. Impressive skill.

As Sandiv worked the fel iron Nex worked as well, spellshaping it to contain its corrupting influence and enchanting it with undead slaying. It was tiring work, and it took more time and energy than he'd expected, but even with the prospect of doing this over and over for a long, long time his smile remained.

He had missed having torpedoes.


	28. Northrend Sneak Peek

Demon Hunter: Northrend, Sneak Peek

Most of the blood elves and naga managed to get out of the way of the frigid blast, or protect themselves with shields of metal or magic. A few near the center took the brunt of the blast and fell swiftly, cries seizing in frozen lungs.

Nex ran along the east ridge of the ravine, leaping easily from one icy outcrop to the next. The frost wyrm had finished its strafing run and was approaching his location, far faster than he could run, but that hardly mattered. It was starting to beat harder on its skeletal wings, intending to rise up above the two ridges of the ravine so it could wheel around for another pass, as it had the last two times.

Timing would be a fairly critical issue. But then, that was only to be expected.

In his hands he carried one of the blood elf warglaives, a weapon nearly as long as a quarterstaff meant to be held in the middle with a wide, razor-sharp blade at either end. He had infused the weapon with enchantments to burn away mana with every strike, which he hoped in this case would be more useful than the undead slaying his other weapons were enchanted with.

From the valley below the combined blood elf and naga casters replied to the strafing run with a barrage of spells, most of which deflected or missed. One massive fireball, however, caught the skeletal dragon directly at the base of its left wing and fractured the bones there. The creature gave a deafening bellow of pain and rage that sent waves of shattered ice crystals raining down from the ridges, but its upward flight was slowed for a few precious moments.

T_hank you, Saire_, he thought grimly as he sped up to a full sprint, leapt atop the outcrop jutting farthest out into the ravine, and sprang for the dragon's back.

As he flew he levitated slightly to increase his distance, but not enough to slow his momentum. His aim appeared to be true as well; barring any unexpected movement on the frost wyrm's part, he'd land on its spine halfway up its back, directly above the frigid swirl of blue magic that had replaced the creature's heart. He lifted the warglaive above him with both hands, and as he reached his destination swung it down in a powerful swing, wedging the razor point into the bone with all his weight behind the blow.

The creature roared and banked sharply, and his own momentum made him skid off the massive icy knobs of its spine and swing wildly, only his grip on the glaive keeping him from falling off completely and slamming into the side of the ravine. The beast banked again and he swung the other way, slicing his hand open as his fist slid down the middle grip and out onto the blade. He ignored the pain, and the blade slicing deeper into his palm, and held on like grim death.

After a few more banking turns by the frost wyrm he finally had the movement figured out, and on the next sharp turn he managed to get his feet wrapped around one of the jagged bones jutting out of the creature's spine. He held on tight and let go of his glaive with his injured hand, conjuring up a ball of shadow power and loosing it point-blank between the creature's ribs. The frigid light at the core of the undead dragon pulsed for the briefest moment and the creature gave another bellow, but that was all the effect his spell seemed to have on the frost wyrm.

All right then. Nex sank down to his knees, wrapping his legs up under two of the spreading ribs and holding on tight. Intense cold bathed his legs, numbing them instantly even through his demon skin, and it took an alarming amount of power to shield them from further damage. But the upside was he had a good, solid position that freed up his arms for more important things. Gritting his teeth he yanked on the glaive until it came free, then swung it with all his might down between the spine's links in front of him. It struck with a horrible shriek of metal on bone, and shards of ice went flying in every direction. The dragon roared and banked until it was flying upside-down, out of the ravine now and flying over the frozen peaks surrounding Icecrown Glacier. From this vantage point Nex could see the glacier itself ricing like a spiral staircase into the roiling skies above it, surrounded on all sides by a wide, bowl-like plain.

He didn't have long to concentrate on the view, however. Frozen sleet was pelting his face from the speed of their flight, and the dragon was sinking gradually lower to the peaks below, obviously trying to scrape him off its back without actually colliding with the rock. It was a tricky thing to do, flying upside-down with a damaged wing, but Nex wasn't going to take any bets that he had longer than a minute before the frost wyrm figured it out.

He swung again at the spine in front of him. His intention was to sever it completely, literally cutting the frost wyrm in half. He didn't know if even that would kill the creature, but missing its tail and back legs had to make flight almost impossible.

Unfortunately it didn't take him more than a dozen swings to realize that his initial signs of apparent success had simply been chips of the ice that sheathed the bone flying away. The dragon bone itself was harder than stone, harder than adamant even. His warglaive was well crafted, made of cobalt forged by skilled blood elf smiths, but even it was no match for the task. With every swing its edge grew more blunted, and he was swinging with all his considerable strength. As far as he could tell the spine was barely chipped, and his weapon was swift becoming useless.

In desperation he lifted it high over-or more accurately under-his head for one final swing, only to have it ripped away by a rock outcropping that passed by in a sickening blur.

Nex swore and pressed himself flat against the spine, ignoring the icy blast that rose up from the ribs beneath him. The ground skimmed by just inches below, and he ducked his head between two ribs just as the frost wyrm flew low enough to press his shoulders hard against a flat patch of ice. Cold pounded at his brain, numbing his thoughts as agony seared through him when the cloth covering his shoulders and then the skin itself was torn away by the jagged ice. The undead dragon abruptly rose slightly and the ground fell away until it was nearly ten feet from them. Nex panted in relief and looked up at the ground passing by below. The creature had broken away to avoid a jagged peak, and now they were skimming over a valley towards another ridge ahead, where the frost wyrm would presumably continue his relentless attempts to dislodge him.

"Shit," he said. Now was as good a time as any. With impressive concentration he managed to ignore the pain of his injuries and the sleet pelting him and the ground blurring by beneath him as he focused his thoughts inwards. Drawing on the Illidari stone and the Vortex crystal simultaneously, he summoned enough power to make the full demon metamorphosis. Heat seared down his limbs, partially blasting away even the frost wyrm's intense cold. The knuckles that gripped the ridge of spine in front of him bulged, then the thick leather gloves sheathing his hands tore as claws sprang loose. He could feel a pressure in his skull as more bulges formed beneath his skin.

The changes started to take effect, and he crossed his fingers and hoped to hell it worked this time.

As the seconds whipped by Nex had no way of knowing if the metamorphosis was working any better than it had during his last attempt, but the fact that his whole body now hurt worse than his shoulders had to be a good sign. Either that or a very, very bad one.

The undead dragon seemed to sense he was doing something major, because it abruptly broke off its attempts to smash him into the ground and soared high into the air, trying to crane its skeletal neck to see him. He caught a glimpse of a brilliant icy blue eye bigger than his entire head glaring at him malevolently just as his own burst into red flame and horns jutted out from his forehead and lower jaw.

He smiled at that eye, revealing a mouth full of wicked sharp teeth, as he felt his ears growing larger and longer and a tail fighting to break free of his breeches. "I hope you're watching this, Ner'zhul," he said.

Then he gathered all his energy and burst into immolating flames, pushing his way through two of the frost wyrm's ribs and throwing himself into the creature's frigid core.


End file.
